:-."---. 


y 


ELSIE  SINGMASTE 


33p  dtl&it  ^inffmafiiteir 


MARTIN  LUTHER.  THE  STORY  OF  HIS 
LIFE.     With  frontispiece. 

THE  LONG  JOURNEY.  Frontispiece  in 
color. 

EMM  E LINE.     Illustrated. 

KATY  GAUMER.     Illustrated. 

GETTYSBURG.     Illustrated. 

WHEN  SARAH  WENT  TO  SCHOOL.  Illus- 
trated. 

WHEN  SARAH  SAVED  THE  DAY.  Illus- 
trated. 

HOUGHTON  MIFFLIN  COMPANY 
Boston  and  New  York 


THE  LONG  JOURNEY 


CONRAD  RUBBED  HIS  EYES  —  HE  LOOKED  AGAIN  (p.  52) 


THE    LONG 
JOURNEY 

BY 

ELSIE   SINGMASTER 


: 


BOSTON    AND    NEW    YORK 

HOUGHTON   MIFFLIN  COMPANY 

@Tbe  firoersi&e  press  Cambridge 

1917 


COPYRIGHT,   1917,  BY  ELSIE  SINGMASTER  LEWARS 
ALL   RIGHTS   RESERVED 

Published  February  IQ17 


s 


n 


eouc. 

UBRAE\> 


TO 

WILLIAM   BLACK  LEWARS 

A    DESCENDANT 

OF 

JOHN    CONRAD    WEISER 

AND    HIS    SON 

CONRAD 


CONTENTS 


I.  The  Gross  Anspach  Cow 
II.  Down  the  River    . 

III.  Blackheath     . 

IV.  A  Royal  Audience 
V.  Across  the  Sea 

VI.  The  Pirate  Ship    . 
VII.  The  Home  assigned 
VIII.  The  Flight  begins 
IX.  The  Dark  Forest 
X.  Journey's  End 


i 

.  21 

.  40 

.  60 

.  79 

.  96 

.  in 

.  131 

-  149 

.  169 


THE 
LONG  JOURNEY 


THE   GROSS  ANSPACH    COW 

ON  the  evening  of  the  twenty-third  of 
.  June,  Conrad  Weiser  brought  home,  as 
was  his  custom,  the  Gross  Anspach  cow.  The 
fact  was,  in  itself,  not  remarkable,  since  it  was 
Conrad's  chief  duty  to  take  the  cow  to  pas- 
ture, to  guard  her  all  day  long,  to  lead  her 
from  one  little  patch  of  green  grass  to  another, 
to  see  that  she  drank  from  one  of  the  springs 
on  the  hillside,  and  to  feed  her  now  and  then 
a  little  of  the  precious  salt  which  he  carried 
in  his  pocket.  What  made  this  twenty-third 
of  June  remarkable  was  the  fact  that  this  was 
Conrad's  final  journey  from  the  pastures  of 
Gross  Anspach  to  Gross  Anspach  village. 

Liesel,   the  property  of   Conrad's  father, 
John  Conrad,  was  Gross  Anspach's  only  cow. 


2  THE   LONG   JOURNEY 

War  and  the  occupation  of  a  brutal  soldiery 
had  stripped  the  village  of  its  property,  its 
household  goods,  its  animals,  and,  alas!  of 
most  of  its  young  men.  Gross  Anspach  had 
hidden  itself  in  woods  and  in  holes  in  the 
ground,  had  lived  like  animals  in  dens.  Upon 
the  mountainside  wolves  had  devoured  chil- 
dren. 

What  war  had  left  undone,  famine  and 
pestilence  and  fearful  cold  had  completed. 
The  fruit  trees  had  died,  the  vines  were  now 
merely  stiffened  and  rattling  stalks,  and, 
though  it  was  June,  the  earth  was  bare  in 
many  places.  There  were  no  young  vines  to 
plant,  there  was  no  seed  to  sow,  there  were 
no  horses  to  break  the  soil  with  the  plough. 

Sometimes  Conrad  had  company  to  the 
hillside  pasture.  He  was  thirteen  years  old, 
a  short,  sturdy,  blue-eyed  boy,  much  older 
than  his  years,  as  were  most  of  the  children 
in  Gross  Anspach.  Above  him  in  the  family 
were  Catrina,  who  was  married  and  had  two 
little  children  of  her  own,  then  Margareta, 
Magdalena,  and  Sabina,  and  below  him  were 
George  Frederick,  Christopher,  Barbara,  and 


THE   GROSS   ANSPACH   COW    3 

John  Frederick.  They  all  had  blue  eyes  and 
sturdy  frames  and  they  were  all,  except  John 
Frederick,  thin.  John  Frederick  was  their 
darling  and  the  only  partaker  in  the  family 
of  the  bounty  of  Liesel.  The  fact  that  John 
Frederick  had  no  mother  seemed  more  terrible 
than  the  lack  of  a  mother  for  any  of  the  other 
eight  children. 

When  Margareta  and  Magdalena  and 
Sabina  and  George  Frederick  and  Christo- 
pher and  Barbara  and  John  Frederick  accom- 
panied Conrad  to  the  hillside,  they  all  started 
soberly,  the  older  girls  knitting  as  they 
walked,  Christopher  and  Barbara  trotting 
hand  in  hand,  and  John  Frederick  riding  upon 
Conrad's  back.  They  had  little  to  say  — 
there  was  little  to  be  said.  When  the  prospect 
broadened,  when  they  were  able  to  look  out 
over  the  walls  of  their  own  valley  across  the 
wide  landscape,  then  spirits  were  lightened 
and  tongues  were  loosed.  Then  they  could 
see  other  valleys  and  other  hills  and  the  deso- 
lation of  their  own  no  longer  filled  their  tired 
eyes.  The  little  children  ran  about,  the  older 
ones,  still  working  busily,  sat  and  talked. 


4  THE   LONG  JOURNEY 

Their  speech  was  German,  the  soft  and 
beautiful  German  of  the  south.  Sometimes 
they  spoke  in  whispers  and  with  fearful 
glances  of  the  past  and  its  terrors,  and  of  the 
cruel  French.  Sometimes  the  older  girls 
whispered  together  of  romantic  dreams  which 
could  never  come  true,  of  true  lovers  and  a 
happy  home  for  each.  But  most  of  all  they 
talked  —  amazing  to  relate  —  these  little 
Germans  of  two  hundred  years  ago  —  of 
Indians! 

About  Indians  it  was  Conrad  who  had  the 
most  to  say.  Conrad  was  the  oldest  boy; 
though  so  much  younger  than  Margareta  and 
Magdalena,  he  could  read  easily  while  they 
could  not  read  at  all.  While  Conrad  talked, 
their  thoughts  traveled  out  of  their  poor  val- 
ley, down  the  great  river,  through  strange 
cities  to  a  mighty  ship  upon  which  they 
should  sail  and  sail  until  they  reached  a  Para- 
dise. Sometimes  Conrad  walked  up  and  down 
before  them,  his  hands  clasped  behind  his 
back,  sometimes  he  lay  on  the  ground  with 
his  hands  under  his  head.  He  talked  and 
talked  and  let  himself  be  questioned  in  the 


THE   GROSS   ANSPACH   COW     5 

lordly  manner  which  lads  assume  with  their 
sisters.  He  carried  with  him  always,  buttoned 
inside  his  thin  clothes,  a  little  book  which  he 
knew  by  heart. 

"Is  it  cold  there?"  asked  Sabina  wistfully. 
Sabina  was  the  last  to  recover  from  the  fearful 
winter. 

Conrad  leafed  his  little  book. 

"I  will  read.  'The  climate  is  everywhere 
subtle  and  penetrating.  During  the  winter' 
—  here,  Sabina,  —  '  during  the  winter  the 
sun  has  great  strength.'" 

11 1  do  not  know  what  'subtle  and  penetrat- 
ing' mean.  Those  great  words  are  beyond 
me." 

"They  mean  that  the  climate  is  good," 
explained  Conrad,  who  did  not  know  ex- 
actly either. 

.  "Will  we  be  hungry?"  asked  Sabina,  still 
more  wistfully. 

Conrad  could  hardly  turn  the  leaves  fast 
enough.  His  eyes  sparkled,  his  cheeks  glowed. 

"Now  listen,  you  foolish,  frightened  Sa- 
bina, listen!  'The  country  produces  all  kinds 
of  cereals,  together  with  Indian  corn  of  vari- 


6  THE   LONG  JOURNEY 

ous  kinds.  Peas,  kitchen  vegetables,  pump- 
kins, melons,  roots,  hemp,  flax,  hops,  every- 
thing. Peaches  and  cherries'  —  Sabina,  you 
have  never  eaten  peaches  or  cherries,  but  I 
have  eaten  one  of  each  —  '  peaches  and  cher- 
ries grow  like  weeds.'  Here  we  have  noth- 
ing, nothing!  Our  grandfather  was  a  magis- 
trate, but  we  are  almost  beggars.  My  father 
talks  to  me  as  he  does  not  talk  to  you,  Mar- 
gareta  and  Magdalena  and  Sabina  and — M 

Margareta  lifted  her  blue  eyes  from  her 
knitting  and  tossed  back  her  yellow  braids. 

"It  is  not  very  long  since  I  spanked  you 
well,  Conrad,"  said  she. 

At  this  all  the  children,  even  Conrad, 
smiled.  Margareta  made  a  little  motion  as 
though  she  meant  to  rise  and  pursue  her 
brother  about  the  high  tableland,  Conrad 
a  little  motion  as  though  he  dared  her  to  a 
chase.  But  the  impulse  passed,  as  all  playful 
impulses  passed  in  this  time  of  distress. 

"My  father  talks  to  me  because  I  am  al- 
most a  man,"  went  on  Conrad.  "He  says 
that  if  we  have  another  winter  like  the  one 
which  is  past  we  will  all  die  as  our  mother  —  " 


THE   GROSS  ANSPACH   COW    7 

Conrad  could  not  complete  his  sentence.  The 
children  did  not  cry,  their  hearts  only  ceased 
for  a  moment  to  beat  as  Conrad's  speech 
faltered.  "He  says  there  will  not  be  enough 
animals  and  birds  left  after  that  time  to  es- 
tablish a  new  stock.  He  says  that  even  if  the 
winter  is  mild,  Gross  Anspach  cannot  all  live 
—  even  we  few  that  are  left." 

"But  I  am  afraid,"  said  little  Sabina. 

"Afraid  of  what?" 

"Of  the  river  and  the  great  sea." 

"Thousands  have  sailed  down  the  river  and 
many  have  crossed  the  sea,  Sabina." 

"I  am  most  afraid  of  these  strange  red 
people." 

"  I  am  not  afraid  of  them,"  announced  little 
Christopher.  "Not  more  than  I  am  afraid  of 
Liesel." 

Once  more  Conrad  leafed  his  little  book.  It 
was  no  wonder  that  it  scarcely  held  together. 

"They  are  not  bad  people.  They  fish  and 
hunt  and  plant  crops.  They  go  farther  and 
farther  back  into  the  woods  as  the  white 
people  come.  I  am  no  more  afraid  of  them 
than  I  am  of  Christopher." 


8  THE   LONG  JOURNEY 

"But  how  are  we  to  get  there,  brother?" 
asked  Magdalena,  who  spoke  least  among  a 
family  who  spoke  little. 

Conrad  shut  his  book  and  tied  it  in  its 
place  under  his  coat. 

"That  I  do  not  know,"  said  he  impatiently. 
"But  we  will  all  see  yet  the  river  and  the 
great  sea  and  the  deep  forests  and  the  red 
people." 

"Old  Redebach  says — "  No  sooner  had 
John  Frederick  began  to  speak  than  his  lips 
were  covered  by  the  hand  of  his  brother. 

"Old  Redebach  cannot  tell  the  truth.  It 
is  not  in  him.  And  he  is  afraid  of  everything. 
Ten  times  he  has  told  me  that  Liesel  would  be 
carried  off,  that  he  has  had  a  dream  and  has 
seen  men  watching  her.  Forty  times  he  has 
told  me  that  Liesel  would  die  of  the  cattle 
plague.  There  stands  Liesel  fat  and  hearty. 
It  is  the  schoolmaster  who  is  to  be  believed 
in  this  matter.  He  would  start  to-morrow  if 
he  could.  I  tell  you"  —  Conrad  pointed  to- 
ward the  declining  sun  —  "we  are  going,  we 
are  going,  we  are  going." 

Now,  on  the  twenty-third  of  June,  as  Con- 


THE   GROSS  ANSPACH   COW     g 

rad,  alone,  guided  the  obstinate  way  of  Liesel 
through  the  dusk,  the  words  of  old  Rede- 
bach  came  back  to  him.  Liesel  had  all  the 
trying  defects  of  a  spoiled  and  important 
character;  believing  herself  to  be  the  Queen 
of  Gross  Anspach,  she  expected  her  subjects 
to  follow  where  she  led.  She  proceeded  de- 
liberately into  all  sorts  of  black  and  shad- 
owy places  from  which  Conrad  did  not  dare 
to  chase  her  roughly  for  fear  of  affecting  the 
precious  store  of  milk,  upon  which  John 
Frederick  and  other  Gross  i\nspach  babies 
depended. 

Conrad  recalled  now,  besides  the  warnings 
of  old  Redebach  about  present  dangers,  cer- 
tain fearful  things  which  were  printed  in  his 
little  book.  The  savages  had  learned  from 
the  whites  to  be  deceitful,  they  were  fre- 
quently drunk,  they  would  not  be  governed, 
they  used  their  knives  and  hatchets  for  hide- 
ous purposes.  They  were  enormous  crea- 
tures, who  increased  their  height  by  bunches 
of  towering  feathers  fastened  to  their  top- 
knots. They  stole  upon  their  victims  with 
the   quietness   of   cats,    they  —  was   that   a 


io  THE   LONG  JOURNEY 

stealthy  footstep  which  Conrad  heard  now  to 
the  right  of  his  path?  —  they  celebrated  their 
triumph  with  fearful  cries  —  what  was  that 
strange  sound  which  he  heard  to  his  left? 

In  spite  of  himself,  Conrad  hastened  the 
steps  of  the  unruly  Liesel  through  the  twi- 
light. 

The  Weiser  family  lived  in  one  of  the  few 
houses  left  in  Gross  Anspach.  It  was  not 
large,  but  to  the  villagers  who  had  taken 
refuge  after  the  burning  of  their  dwellings  in 
stables  and  sheds,  it  seemed  like  a  palace. 
From  its  doorway  shone  now  a  faint  light, 
at  sight  of  which  Conrad  felt  ashamed  of  his 
fear.  He  heard  the  rattle  of  Margareta's 
milk  pail,  and  felt  against  his  leg  the  warm, 
comfortable  body  of  old  Wolf,  the  Weiser 
dog. 

"You  are  late,"  called  Margareta,  in  an 
excited  tone.  "I  have  been  watching  and 
watching  and  the  children  have  been  more 
than  once  to  the  bottom  of  the  hill." 

"What  is  the  matter?"  asked  Conrad. 

"You  will  hear  in  good  time,"  answered 
Margareta  in  a  patronizing  way. 


THE   GROSS   ANSPACH   COW     n 

"Where  is  father?" 

"In  the  house." 

"If  anything  had  happened  he  would  tell 
me  first,"  said  Conrad.  "  I  do  not  believe  he 
has  told  you  anything." 

Behind  the  broad  table  in  the  kitchen  sat 
John  Conrad.  He  was  the  younger  Conrad 
grown  old  and  gray  with  anxiety  and  grief. 
His  clothes  were  whole,  but  mended  with 
amazing  invention.  His  body  was  still  power- 
ful and  the  fire  of  energy  flashed  from  his 
eyes.  As  Conrad  entered,  he  raised  a  clenched 
fist  and  brought  it  down  heavily  upon  the 
table,  which,  solid  as  it  was,  shook  under  the 
impact.  A  stranger  might  have  thought  that 
he  was  reproving  the  little  row  of  children 
who  sat  opposite  him  on  a  bench  and  who 
watched  him  with  a  fixed  stare.  But  John 
Conrad  was  a  kind  father;  his  excitement  did 
not  find  its  source  in  anger  with  his  children. 
Nor  were  the  children  frightened.  Their  stare 
was  one  of  admiration  and  awe  rather  than 
of  fright. 

Seeing  his  father  thus,  Conrad  asked  no 
questions,  though  a  dozen  trembled  on  his 


12  THE   LONG  JOURNEY 

lips.  He  sat  quietly  down  beside  the  other 
children  and  lifted  John  Frederick  to  his 
lap. 

When  Margareta  came  in  from  milking, 
the  family  had  their  supper  of  black  bread 
and  a  little  weak  broth.  It  was  enough  to 
keep  life  in  their  bodies,  but  not  very  vigor- 
ous life.  The  children  scarcely  tasted  what 
they  ate,  so  excited  were  they  by  their  fa- 
ther's appearance,  and  by  the  long  and  sol- 
emn prayer  with  which  he  prefaced  the  meal. 
Presently  Elisabeth  Albern  came  for  milk 
for  her  Eva,  Michael  Fuhrmann  for  milk  for 
his  Balthasar,  and  George  Reimer,  the  school- 
master, for  milk  for  his  little  sister  Salome. 
For  this  milk  John  Conrad  took  no  pay.  He 
was  poor,  but  his  neighbors  were  far  poorer; 
he  regarded  Liesel  neither  as  the  annoying 
creature  which  Conrad  considered  her,  nor  as 
the  proud  princess  that  she  believed  herself 
to  be,  but  as  a  sacred  trust.  If  it  were  not  for 
Liesel  half  of  the  poor  little  Gross  Anspach 
babies  would  not  survive  the  summer.  Even 
John  Frederick  was  beginning  to  eat  the 
black  bread  and  broth  so  that  younger  and 


THE   GROSS   ANSPACH    COW     13 

more  needy  babies  might  have  his  share  of 
Liesel's  milk. 

George  Reimer  spoke  to  John  Conrad  in  a 
way  which  heightened  the  children's  excite- 
ment. 

"I  will  be  here,"  said  he. 

The  children  nudged  one  another.  Their 
father  was  the  leader  in  what  poor  little  af- 
fairs Gross  Anspach  might  still  be  said  to 
have,  and  he  sometimes  assembled  his  neigh- 
bors so  that  they  might  encourage  and  con- 
sole one  another. 

Such  a  meeting  was  now  at  hand.  The 
older  girls  washed  the  bowls  and  wooden 
plates  and  the  cooking-pot  and  put  them  on 
the  shelf,  and  carried  a  sleepy  John  Frederick 
and  a  protesting  Barbara  from  the  kitchen 
and  laid  them  firmly  and  tenderly  in  their 
corner  of  the  family  bedroom.  When  Conrad 
nodded  to  little  Christopher  that  he  should 
follow,  the  older  Weiser  bade  Christopher 
stay. 

"  It  is  important  that  all  my  children  who 
can  should  remember  this  night." 

Before  long  the  village  men  and  a  few  of 


i4         THE   LONG   JOURNEY 

the  women  began  to  assemble.  They  came 
quietly,  with  only  the  simplest  of  greetings, 
but  eye  meeting  eye  said  wonderful  things. 

11  John  Conrad  Weiser,  you  are  our  leader 
and  friend.' ' 

"Neighbors,  you  have  been  my  stay  in 
deep  affliction. " 

A  woman  with  a  baby  in  her  arms  bade 
John  Conrad  look  and  see  how  his  namesake 
was  growing. 

"If  it  were  not  for  you  he  would  be  gone 
like  his  father." 

Presently  the  children,  giving  up  their 
places  on  the  bench  for  places  on  little  stools 
or  on  the  earthen  floor,  began  to  whisper  to 
one  another  and  to  point.  From  under  the 
thin  and  ragged  coat  of  George  Reimer,  the 
schoolmaster,  projected  a  flute.  George's  own 
flute  had  been  taken  from  him  by  the  French 
soldiers,  but  in  a  few  days  a  much  finer  one 
had  been  found  by  the  roadside,  dropped, 
probably,  because  the  army  could  not  carry 
all  its  own  possessions  in  addition  to  those 
which  it  had  stolen.  It  might  be  said  that 
Gross  Anspach  retained  two  valuable  articles, 


THE   GROSS   ANSPACH   COW     15 

John  Conrad  Weiser's  cow  and  George  Rei- 
mer's  flute.  Behind  his  father's  back,  Conrad 
pretended  to  play  a  tune  upon  the  air.  At 
once  the  solemn  assembly  grew  a  little 
brighter.  Last  of  all  came  Catrina  and  her 
husband. 

At  once  John  Conrad  rose  to  pray.  They 
still  had  God,  these  souls  who  had  little  else, 
and  upon  Him  John  Conrad  called,  that  He 
might  bless  them  in  a  great  endeavor.  At  this, 
in  spite  of  his  better  knowledge,  Conrad 
opened  his  eyes  and  fixed  them  upon  Mar- 
gareta  until  she  opened  hers.  Conrad  clasped 
his  hands  tightly,  scarcely  able  to  breathe. 

"Friends,"  —  John  Conrad  had  closed  his 
prayer,  —  "  I  have  asked  you  to  come  here  so 
that  I  might  tell  you  of  an  important  matter. 
It  is  not  necessary  that  in  beginning  what  I 
have  to  say  I  should  remind  you  of  our  mis- 
eries and  our  griefs.  You  know  them  as  well 
as  I.  You  know  that  this  life  cannot  go  on; 
that,  presently,  unless  we  do  something  for 
ourselves,  there  will  be  none  of  us  remaining. 
Our  country  is  desolate.  The  soldiers  have 
harried  us,  the  great  cold  has  tortured  us, 


16         THE   LONG  JOURNEY 

famine  has  almost  made  an  end  of  us.  We 
should  not  too  bitterly  sigh  and  complain  on 
account  of  what  has  come  upon  us.  It  may  be 
that  thus  God  seeks  to  lead  us  to  another  and 
a  better  land. 

"I  need  not  tell  you,  either,  what  land  I 
have  in  mind.  We  have  spoken  of  it,  we  have 
seen  it  in  our  dreams,  we  have  longed  for  it 
with  all  our  souls.  There  is  fertile  soil,  there  is 
temperate  climate,  there  is,  above  all,  thank 
God!  freedom  and  peace.  There  is  no  war 
there.  There — "  John  Conrad  halted,  tried 
again  to  speak  and  failed. 

"But  we  cannot  get  to  that  country!"  cried 
the  young  woman  with  the  baby  in  her  arms. 

There  was  a  long  pause.  Deep  breaths 
were  drawn  and  a  great  sigh  filled  the  little 
room. 

"The  way  has  been  opened,"  announced 
John  Conrad  at  last.  "  I  and  my  family  will 
go  to-morrow.  Let  those  who  will  come  with 
us  lift  their  hands." 

But  no  hands  were  lifted.  The  thought  of 
deliverance  was  paralyzing. 

"  Word  has  come  that  the  gracious  Queen 


THE   GROSS   ANSPACH   COW     17 

of  England  will  send  us  and  our  long-suffering 
brethren  to  her  colonies  in  the  New  World.  I 
have  had  a  letter  from  our  old  neighbor  the 
magistrate  of  Oberdorf.  He  is  in  London, 
awaiting  the  sailing  of  the  ships.  He  is  well 
cared  for ;  charitable  persons  exert  themselves 
for  the  afflicted  people.  Probably  by  this 
time  he  is  already  far  on  his  way." 

"But  to-morrow,  father!"  cried  Catrina. 
"Why  start  to-morrow?" 

"As  well  to-morrow  as  another  day,"  an- 
swered John  Conrad.  "We  have  few  posses- 
sions and  they  are  easily  gathered  together. 
To  those  of  our  friends  who  will  not  come 
with  us  we  could  not  express  our  affection  and 
our  farewells  in  a  hundred  days.  We  will  go 
on  foot  to  the  river  and  make  our  way  to  the 
lowlands  and  thence  to  England.  It  is  a  long 
and  perilous  journey,  but  it  is  not  so  perilous 
as  to  stay.  I  cannot  advise  any  one  what  to 
do.  But  for  all  those  who  come  I  will  care  as 
though  they  were  my  own."  \ 

"  But  Liesel ! "  cried  the  young  woman  with 
the  baby  in  her  arms.  "We  will  die  without 
Liesel!" 


18         THE   LONG  JOURNEY 

John  Conrad  smiled. 

"Liesel  will  stay  in  Gross  Anspach.  She 
will  be  the  perpetual  property  of  the  Gross 
Anspach  babies." 

George  Reimer  spoke  next.  He  sat  with  his 
arms  folded  across  his  breast,  within  them  his 
precious  flute.  Tears  were  in  his  eyes  and  in 
his  voice  as  he  said :  — 

"  /  am  poor  and  needy;  yet  the  Lord  thinketh 
upon  me.11 

The  company  broke  up  without  music. 
There  were  those  who  must  go  home  to  tell 
wives  or  mothers;  there  were  those  who 
wished  to  talk  to  John  Conrad  in  private. 
There  was  Catrina,  with  her  husband,  weep- 
ing and  distressed,  who  did  not  dare  to  trust 
her  babies  to  the  sea.  She  must  plan  with  her 
sisters  the  bundles  which  should  be  packed 
for  each  to  carry,  the  food  which  must  be 
gathered  to  last  as  long  as  possible.  To  her 
and  her  husband  John  Conrad  forgave  a  large 
debt,  and  his  kindness  and  their  inability  to 
pay  made  the  parting  more  heartbreaking. 
John  Conrad  still  had  a  little  store  of  German 
gulden,  long  hoarded  against  the  coming  day. 


THE   GROSS  ANSPACH   COW    19 

When  all  was  done  and  the  children  were 
asleep,  John  Conrad  took  his  oldest  son  by 
the  hand  and  led  him  up  the  winding  street 
between  the  ruined  houses  to  the  little  Lu- 
theran church  which  had  been  saved  in  the 
great  destruction.  The  moon  shone  quietly 
upon  it  and  the  little  walled-in  space  behind 
it.  Thither  John  Conrad  led  his  son,  and 
beside  a  new-made  grave  they  paused. 

"It  is  not  good  to  dwell  on  grief  when  one 
lives  in  the  world  and  has  still  the  work  of  half 
a  lifetime,"  said  he  solemnly.  "  But  there  are 
moments  when  it  is  right  that  we  should  yield 
ourselves  to  our  sorrow.  The  others  will  come 
here  in  the  morning,  but  you  and  I  will  then 
have  no  time  for  shedding  tears.  Your  mother 
looked  into  the  future.  She  begged  me  to  go 
when  the  time  came,  even  though  I  must 
leave  her  here. 

"My  lad,"  —  John  Conrad  laid  his  arm 
across  the  boy's  shoulders, —  "there  are  many 
things  I  would  say  to  you.  You  were,  as  you 
know,  her  darling.  But  she  knew  your  faults, 
that  you  are  strong-headed  and  strong-willed. 
As  you  are  of  all  my  children  the  quickest  to 


20         THE   LONG  JOURNEY 

learn,  so  are  you  the  least  obedient  and  steady, 
the  most  impatient  and  impetuous.  Your 
mother  prayed  for  you  daily.  Will  you  remem- 
ber her  counsels,  lad?" 

To  the  yearning  voice  Conrad  could  make 
no  answer.  Arm  in  arm  father  and  son  stood 
for  a  long  time.  Then,  when  the  moon  had 
sunk  behind  the  little  church,  Conrad  felt 
himself  led  away. 

"Now,  my  son,"  admonished  John  Conrad, 
"  weep  no  more,  but  set  your  face  forward." 


II 

DOWN  THE   RIVER 

THE  night  of  the  twenty-third  of  June  is 
a  short  night  at  best.  When  one  robs  its 
beginning  of  four  or  five  hours,  there  is  little 
darkness  left.  Bidding  his  son  go  to  bed,  John 
Conrad  spent  the  night  in  vigil.  In  spite  of 
his  reminder  that  this  was  not  a  time  for  grief, 
he  went  again  to  the  little  church.  From 
thence  he  climbed  through  the  ruined  vine- 
yards to  the  pastures  on  the  hill  where  his 
father  and  his  grandfather  had  pastured  their 
sheep  and  cattle.  There  he  stood  long  and 
looked  about  him,  his  mind  traveling  back  to 
the  happiness  of  their  peaceful  lives,  spent 
in  sturdy  labor  and  sweetened  by  the  honor 
which  they  had  had  among  their  fellows. 
Here  were  the  roots  of  his  own  life,  deep  in  the 
soil  —  would  God  that  he  could  stay  where  he 
had  been  born !  He  was  no  longer  young,  re- 
sponsibility and  adversity  had  made  him  old. 
Those  rosy  stories  of  the  new  land  —  might 


22  THE   LONG  JOURNEY 

they  not  be  as  other  travelers'  tales,  conceal- 
ing a  reality  worse  than  this  fearful  present  of 
hunger  and  fear?  Five  hundred  miles  of  river, 
three  thousand  miles  of  sea,  and  then  an  un- 
settled country!  The  same  shapes  of  fear 
which  had  fascinated  and  disturbed  young 
Conrad  seemed  now  to  await  his  father  be- 
hind every  tree  and  bush. 

Suddenly  John  Conrad  heard  a  soft  sound 
on  the  summer  wind.  George  Reimer,  as  rest- 
less as  himself,  was  somewhere  about  with  his 
dear  flute.  John  Conrad  bent  his  ear  to  the 
direction  from  which  the  sound  came.  It  was 
a  German  hymn,  "A  Mighty  Stronghold  is 
Our  God."  John  Conrad  lifted  his  head  and 
with  it  his  heart.  George  Reimer  would  be 
with  them  and  George  Reimer's  flute.  Re- 
turning to  his  house,  John  Conrad  lay  down 
for  a  little  sleep  before  dawn. 

But  George  Reimer  did  not  go  to  the  new 
country.  Upon  the  indescribable  confusion  of 
the  Weiser  house  the  next  morning,  he  came 
smiling. 

Into  sheets  and  coverlets  the  Weisers  had 
tied  all  their  movable  possessions,  the  various 


DOWN  THE   RIVER  23 

articles  making  curious  knobs  and  projections 
on  the  great  bundles.  The  family  spinning- 
wheel  must  go  —  surely  no  article  was  more 
necessary!  This  Conrad  was  to  carry  on  his 
back.  The  few  cooking-pots  which  remained 
—  these  must  be  taken,  though  all  else  were 
left  behind.  Wardrobes  were  small,  sheets 
were  few,  pillows  did  not  exist.  The  feather 
beds  could  not  be  carried  —  these  were  given 
to  the  neighbors. 

About  hovered  all  Gross  Anspach.  Each 
person  had  brought  a  little  gift,  a  tiny  trinket 
saved  from  the  pillaging  of  the  hamlet,  a  little 
bouquet  of  the  few  garden  flowers  which  had 
survived  the  cruel  winter,  a  loaf  of  bread  or 
a  package  of  dried  beans  for  soup.  Catrina,  a 
baby  on  each  arm,  wept  loudly.  Each  baby 
had  to  be  embraced  many  times  by  its  depart- 
ing relatives  and  each  departing  relative  had 
to  be  embraced  by  all  the  village.  Under  foot, 
six  tiny  kittens  risked  their  lives.  Old  Rede- 
bach,  tottering  feebly  about,  quoted  warning 
passages  of  Scripture :  — 

"As  a  bird  that  wander eth from  her  nest,  so  is 
a  man  that  wander  eth  from  his  place." 


24  THE   LONG  JOURNEY 

On  the  doorstep  sat  Wolf,  his  solemn  eyes 
watching  the  scene  in  amazement.  Every- 
where was  confusion,  everywhere  was  noise. 

For  a  few  moments  George  Reimer  watched 
quietly. 

" Neighbors !"  cried  he.  "If  you  cannot 
help  these  friends,  stand  back!  Here,  Conrad, 
I  will  tie  that  bundle.  Here,  John  Frederick,  I 
am  to  be  your  horse  as  far  as  the  river;  see 
that  you  behave,  or  I  will  run  away.  Sabina, 
I  ,will  keep  your  kittens  if  I  have  to  catch  the 
mice  for  them  myself." 

With  one  accord  the  Weisers  turned  upon 
him. 

"You  are  going  with  us,  surely!" 

"Only  to  the  river."  His  eyes  sought  those 
of  John  Conrad.  "I  cannot  go  farther.  My 
little  sisters  are  too  young,  my  father  too 
feeble,  my  mother  is  sick  —  I  can  neither  take 
them  nor  leave  them  alone." 

"God  will  reward  you,"  said  John  Conrad. 
''But  it  is  a  sore  loss  to  us." 

In  the  end  no  one  went  beyond  the  river. 
From  weeping  Gross  Anspach  the  Weisers 
and  a  dozen  accompanying  friends  separated 


DOWN   THE   RIVER  25 

themselves  at  seven  o'clock,  the  Weisers  car- 
rying nothing,  the  burdens  on  the  shoulders 
of  their  neighbors.  At  the  heels  of  the  proces- 
sion walked  Wolf.  At  the  summit  of  the  first 
hill  all  looked  back,  save  Conrad.  The  little 
village  lay  smiling  in  the  sun;  to  the  pilgrims 
it  seemed  like  Heaven. 

"I  cannot  go,"  cried  Magdalena. 

"Oh, father,  let  us  stay," begged  Margareta. 

Before  John  Conrad  could  answer,  a  cheer- 
ful sound  restored  the  courage  of  the  pilgrims 
and  George  Reimer's  gay  "Susy,  dear  Susy" 
set  their  feet  moving. 

At  the  village  of  Oberdorf  there  was  a  halt, 
while  greetings  were  exchanged,  explanations 
made,  and  messages  written  down  for  friends 
already  in  America.  Among  those  to  whom 
greetings  were  sent  was  the  magistrate  who 
must  be  by  this  time  safely  across  the  sea. 

Here  the  Gross  Anspachers,  except  the 
schoolmaster,  turned  back  and  the  Weisers 
shouldered  their  own  bundles.  It  became  clear 
now  that  there  were  more  bundles  than  per- 
sons and  the  fact  occasioned  much  laughter 
and  readjustment. 


26         THE   LONG  JOURNEY 

At  night  the  Weisers  slept  by  the  wayside. 
The  fare  on  the  boat  would  draw  a  large  sum 
from  John  Conrad's  store  and  not  a  penny 
could  be  spent  for  lodging.  Lulled  by  Reimer's 
flute,  they  slept  comfortably,  and,  roused  by 
the  same  music,  were  off  soon  after  daylight. 

At  the  river  came  the  most  difficult  of  part- 
ings. Here  George  Reimer  played  a  last 
lullaby  and  a  final  reveille.  A  river  boat, 
the  Elspeth,  had  anchored  near  by  for  the 
night  and  upon  it  the  family  took  passage. 
The  goods  were  carried  aboard  and  piled  in 
the  center  of  the  deck  and  John  Conrad  and 
his  eight  children  followed.  At  once  came  a 
protest  from  the  captain.  Old  Wolf  could  not 
go,  and  Conrad  was  commanded  to  lead  him 
from  the  boat.  Conrad  forgot  that  he  was 
thirteen  years  old,  forgot  that  he  was  the  man 
of  the  family  next  to  his  father,  forgot  his 
boasted  superiority  to  Margareta  and  Mag- 
dalena  and  the  rest,  and  threw  his  arms  round 
the  old  dog's  neck. 

11 1  cannot  leave  you !  I  cannot  leave  you ! " 

Then  he  felt  himself  lifted  up  and  put 
aboard  the  gangplank. 


DOWN   THE   RIVER  27 

"There,  Conrad,  there!  I  will  take  care  of 
him.  I  have  given  your  father  something  for 
you.    Show  yourself  brave,  dear  lad!" 

Stumbling,  Conrad  boarded  the  boat.  He 
saw  the  schoolmaster  wave  his  hand,  he  saw 
the  green  shores  slip  away,  he  heard  his 
father's  voice. 

"Your  teacher  gave  me  this  for  you, 
Conrad. " 

"Oh,  father!"  cried  Conrad. 

In  his  hand  lay  the  schoolmaster's  flute. 

"He  said  you  were  to  practice  diligently 
and  to  remember  him." 

The  message  made  Conrad  weep  the  more. 
He  threw  himself  down  on  the  pile  of  house- 
hold goods  and  hid  his  face. 

When  he  looked  up  his  father  sat  beside 
him.  In  his  hand  were  two  books.  He  looked 
at  his  son  anxiously. 

"Conrad,  we  are  going  among  strange 
people.  The  first  are  the  Hollanders,  with 
whom  we  can  make  ourselves  understood. 
But  of  English  we  know  nothing.  Now  we 
will  learn  as  well  as  we  can,  I  and  you.  The 
schoolmaster  gave  me  an  English  Bible,  in  it 


28         THE   LONG  JOURNEY 

we  will  study  daily,  comparing  it  with  our 
own." 

"What  will  we  do  about  the  language  of 
the  savages?  "  asked  Conrad,  drying  his  tears. 
"  How  will  we  make  ourselves  understood  by 
them?" 

"There  will  be  time  enough  for  that.  It  is 
probable  that  they  compel  them  to  learn 
English.   The  savages  are  a  long  way  off." 

For  a  few  days  John  Conrad  and  his  son 
studied  diligently.  There  was  little  else  to  do 
in  the  long  hours  which  glided  as  quietly  by 
as  the  stream.  The  country  about  them  was 
unbroken  and  flat;  here  there  went  on  a 
simple  life  like  their  own.  Everywhere  were 
to  be  seen  in  the  brown  fields  and  the  dead 
vineyards  the  ravages  of  the  fearful  winter. 

In  return  for  a  little  help  about  the  boat, 
the  helmsman,  who  had  served  on  English 
ships,  did  his  best  to  interpret  the  hardest 
words  for  the  students.  To  the  surly  captain 
they  dared  not  speak.  Once  the  price  for  the 
journey  was  paid  into  his  hand,  he  seemed  to 
resent  even  the  sight  of  his  passengers.  Fre- 
quently he  was  not  sober,  and  then  the  helms- 


DOWN  THE   RIVER  29 

man  helped  the  Weisers  to  keep  out  of  his 
way.  Unlike  the  rest  of  his  race,  he  could 
not  endure  the  sound  of  music  and  Conrad 
and  his  flute  were  objects  of  special  dislike. 
More  than  once  he  threatened  to  throw  both 
into  the  river. 

When  the  boat  stopped  at  the  city  of 
Speyer  for  a  day  and  night,  studying  and 
flute-practicing  stopped  entirely  and,  urged 
by  the  friendly  helmsman,  the  Weisers  went 
on  shore.  Now  for  the  first  time  the  children 
saw  a  large  town;  with  eager  expectation 
they  stepped  on  the  wharf.  But  here,  too, 
was  ruin  and  desolation.  The  great  build- 
ings, burned  by  the  enemy  who  had  devas- 
tated their  own  village,  had  not  been  restored ; 
the  cathedral  which  towered  above  the  ruins 
was  itself  but  a  hollow  shell.  When  they 
reached  the  next  large  town  of  Mannheim, 
they  did  not  leave  the  boat.  With  increasing 
longing  they  looked  forward  across  the  ocean 
to  the  Paradise  where  the  enemy  had  not 
been. 

Daily  they  were  joined  by  other  pilgrims 
who   like   themselves   looked   forward   with 


30         THE   LONG  JOURNEY 

aching  eyes  to  the  distant  country.  The  new- 
comers had  each  his  own  story  of  persecution 
and  famine,  of  cold  and  misery.  With  them 
John  Conrad  talked,  gathering  from  them  all 
the  information  which  they  had  about  the 
new  country,  comforting  them  as  best  he 
could,  and  reading  to  them  from  Conrad's 
little  book.  To  the  directions  they  listened 
earnestly,  hearing  over  and  over  again  that 
they  must  be  patient,  quick  to  hear  and  slow 
to  speak,  that  they  must  be  diligent  and 
thrifty.  About  the  dangers  of  the  sea  they 
talked  a  great  deal  and  were  relieved  to  hear 
that  a  journey  on  an  inland  river  was  valua- 
ble as  preparation  for  a  journey  on  the  ocean. 
The  little  book  advised  also  that  those  who 
were  about  to  take  a  journey  by  sea  should 
practice  on  a  swing. 

Each  day  the  captain  was  less  and  less  able 
to  navigate  the  ship.  Finally  the  helmsman 
took  command,  and  while  the  captain  lay 
in  a  stupor,  Conrad  continued  the  forbid- 
den flute-playing.  Growing  careless,  he  was 
caught,  and  the  captain,  who  could  reach 
neither  Conrad    nor   the   flute,  kicked  the 


DOWN  THE   RIVER  31 

family  spinning-wheel  into  the  river.  The 
loss  was  serious  and  it  taught  a  bitter  lesson. 

It  was  the  twenty-fourth  of  June  when  the 
travelers  left  Gross  Anspach;  a  month  later 
they  were  still  far  from  the  mouth  of  the 
river.  Each  day  passengers  clamored  on  the 
banks,  each  day  the  number  of  ships  in  the 
river  increased,  slow  packet  boats  which  did 
not  go  above  Cologne  or  Mainz,  and  faster 
boats  which  passed  the  heavily  laden  Elspeth 
like  birds.  The  river  left  the  broad  meadows 
for  a  narrow  gorge  with  precipitous  banks 
upon  which  stood  imposing  castles.  At  sight 
of  the  castles  the  children  were  overcome  with 
awe. 

"  There  is  Bingen,  and  its  mouse  tower, 
children,' '  said  John  Conrad. 

"Not  where  the  bishop  was  eaten !"  cried 
Sabina. 

"Yes;  and  about  here  the  treasure  of  the 
Niebelungen  is  buried.' ' 

"If  we  could  only  find  it!"  sighed  Conrad. 

"And  there" — the  helmsman  pointed  to 
ruined  walls  upon  the  cliff  side — "there  a 
brave  trumpeter  defended  his  master's  life. 


32         THE   LONG  JOURNEY 

While  his  master  and  others  escaped,  he  blew 
bravely  upon  the  walls  to  frighten  the  enemy, 
and  when  they  entered,  there  was  no  one  left 
to  kill  but  him." 

The  watching  of  Barbara  and  John  Freder- 
ick in  their  trotting  about  the  crowded  ship 
grew  to  be  more  and  more  of  a  task.  The 
first  person  who  was  pushed  overboard  was 
made  much  of,  and  the  man  who  rescued  him 
was  considered  a  hero.  When  many  had 
fallen  overboard  and  had  been  rescued  the 
passengers  scarcely  turned  their  heads. 

As  day  after  day  passed  and  August  drew 
near  its  close,  John  Conrad  became  more  and 
more  anxious. 

"  It  is  time  we  were  sailing  from  England, " 
said  he  uneasily  to  Conrad.  "The  journey 
has  taken  long,  food  has  been  higher  than  I 
thought,  and  we  have  had  to  pay  tariff  a 
dozen  times." 

Again  and  again  he  took  from  his  pocket 
the  letter  of  the  magistrate  of  Oberdorf.  Of 
the  chief  of  his  fears  he  said  nothing  to  Con- 
rad. The  good  Queen  of  England  had  offered 
transportation   to   the   distressed   Germans; 


DOWN  THE    RIVER  33 

but  had  she  realized,  had  any  one  anticipated 
that  so  vast  a  throng  would  take  her  at  her 
word?  The  river  captains  told  of  weeks  and 
weeks  of  such  crowding  of  the  lower  river. 
Would  there  be  ships  enough  to  carry  them 
all  to  the  New  World?  Would  the  Queen 
provide  for  them  until  they  could  sail? 

Presently  rumors  of  trouble  increased  John 
Conrad's  fears.  A  passing  boat  declared  that 
the  Germans  were  forbidden  to  enter  Rotter- 
dam, the  lowland  city  at  which  they  would 
have  to  take  ship  for  England.  The  conges- 
tion had  become  serious.  The  citizens  of 
Rotterdam  announced  that  their  patience 
and  their  resources  were  exhausted ;  the  Ger- 
mans could  no  longer  wait  there  for  English 
boats;  they  must  return  whence  they  had 
come. 

At  this  announcement  there  was  a  loud 
outcry.  Like  the  Weisers,  the  other  pilgrims 
had  sold  or  had  given  away  everything  except 
the  property  they  carried  with  them;  if  they 
returned  now,  it  would  be  to  greater  misery 
than  that  which  they  had  left.  Go  on  they 
must.    John  Conrad  reminded  them  of  the 


34         THE   LONG  JOURNEY 

Lord  in  whom  they  trusted.  The  Queen  had 
promised  and  England  was  rich  in  resources. 
The  Queen's  charity  was  not  entirely  dis- 
interested ;  she  expected  the  Germans  to  peo- 
ple her  new  colonies.  Nor  did  John  Conrad 
believe  that  the  Hollanders  would  see  them 
starve  on  the  way  to  England.  But  even  as 
he  argued  with  himself,  his  heart  misgave 
him.  He  had  seen  persons  starve,  he  had  seen 
men  and  women  and  children  struck  down 
by  the  swords  of  brutal  soldiers.  There  was 
nothing  in  the  world,  he  believed,  too  terrible 
for  heartless  men  to  do. 

As  they  drew  nearer  to  Rotterdam,  the 
anxiety  of  the  helmsman  was  plain  to  be 
seen. 

"I  pay  no  attention  to  what  passers-by 
say,"  he  told  John  Conrad.  "But  if  you  see 
any  long,  narrow  boats,  with  the  flag  of  Hol- 
land flying,  then  it  will  be  time  to  be  fright- 
ened. They  will  have  the  power  to  make  us 
turn  back." 

Each  hour  the  rate  of  travel  became  slower 
and  slower.  There  was  now  no  current  what- 
ever, and  for  many  days  the  wind  did  not 


I   DOWN  THE   RIVER  35 

blow.  Finally,  when,  at  nightfall,  the  Els- 
peth  came  into  the  harbor,  John  Conrad 
breathed  a  deep  sigh  of  relief.  In  the  morning 
the  travelers  saw  next  them  at  the  wharf  one 
of  the  long  boats  which  the  helmsman  had 
described,  and  heard  that  it  was  to  start  in  an 
hour  to  warn  all  the  pilgrims  to  return  to 
their  homes. 

The  passengers  of  the  Elspeth  were  not 
allowed  to  enter  the  city,  but  were  bidden  to 
wait  on  the  wharf  for  English  ships.  Here 
their  quarters  were  almost  as  restricted  as 
they  had  been  on  shipboard.  In  prompt  con- 
tradiction of  the  statement  that  their  patience 
and  their  supplies  were  exhausted,  the  kind 
Hollanders  brought  food  to  the  guests  who 
had  thrust  themselves  upon  them. 

Now  the  helmsman  came  to  bid  his  friends 
good-bye.  John  Conrad  gave  him  many 
blessings  and  the  children  cried  bitterly  and 
embraced  him. 

"If  he  were  only  going  with  us,  what  fine 
times  we  should  have  on  the  sea ! ' '  said  Conrad . 

"He  seems  like  our  last  friend,"  mourned 
Margareta.  "  Everything  before  us  is  strange." 


36         THE  LONG  JOURNEY 

"We  thought  George  Reimer  was  our  last 
friend,"  said  John  Conrad.  "  Perhaps  we 
shall  find  other  friends  as  good." 

For  four  days,  the  Germans  watched  for  a 
ship.  When  at  last  two  English  vessels  came 
into  the  harbor  and  they  were  taken  aboard, 
the  Weisers  had  little  food  and  less  money. 
When  John  Gonrad  heard  that  no  passage 
was  to  be  charged,  he  breathed  another  sigh 
of  relief. 

"The  good  Queen  will  keep  her  promises," 
said  he  to  his  children.  "The  worst  of  our 
troubles  are  over." 

But  within  an  hour  it  seemed  that  the  worst 
of  their  troubles  had  only  begun.  The  chan- 
nel crossing  was  rough.  From  their  fellow 
travelers  there  was  rising  already  a  cry,  which 
was  to  grow  louder  and  louder  as  the  weeks 
and  months  went  by  —  "Would  that  we  had 
suffered  those  miseries  which  we  knew  rather 
than  tempt  those  which  we  did  not  know!" 

When  the  ship  entered  the  smooth  waters 
of  the  Thames  River,  the  Germans  began  to 
smile  once  more.  About  them  were  green 
fields.  They  saw  pleasant  villages  and  broad 


DOWN  THE   RIVER  37 

stretches  of  cultivated  land  and  deer  browsing 
under  mighty  trees. 

"  If  we  might  only  stay  here!"  they  sighed. 

John  Conrad  shook  his  head. 

"Here  we  should  not  find  rest." 

Once  more  the  Germans  disembarked,  won- 
dering whether  their  stay  on  shore  would  be 
long  enough  for  a  closer  view  of  the  fine 
churches  and  palaces  of  London.  Of  so  large 
a  city  as  this  even  John  Conrad  had  never 
dreamed. 

"Shall  we  see  the  Queen?"  asked  Sabina  in 
a  whisper  of  her  father. 

John  Conrad  smiled. 

"We  might  see  her  riding  in  her  chariot." 

Then  John  Conrad  grew  sober.  As  they 
stood  crowded  together  upon  the  quay  some 
young  lads  shouted  at  them  roughly.  The  ears 
which  expected  only  kindness  were  shocked. 

"They  say  we  are  taking  the  bread  from 
their  mouths,"  repeated  Conrad.  "They  call 
us  'rascally'  Germans." 

"There  are  rude  folk  everywhere,"  said 
John  Conrad. 

He   directed    the   children   to   take   their 


38         THE   LONG  JOURNEY 

bundles  and  follow  a  man  who  seemed  to  have 
authority  to  conduct  them  to  some  place  in 
which  they  were  to  spend  the  night. 

The  way  thither  proved  to  be  long.  Again 
and  again  it  was  necessary  to  stop  to  rest  or 
to  give  time  for  the  short  legs  of  the  little 
children  to  catch  up.  Again  and  again  the 
heavy  burdens  were  shifted  about.  They 
traveled  into  the  open  country  —  a  strange 
stopping  place  for  those  who  were  so  soon  to 
continue  their  journey!  They  passed  many 
men  and  women  who  looked  at  them  curi- 
ously. Presently  they  heard  their  own  Ger- 
man speech. 

"We  will  have  to  wait  awhile,  probably, 
for  ships,"  said  John  Conrad  to  his  son.  "Of 
course  we  could  not  expect  to  go  on  at  once. 
We-" 

John  Conrad  stopped  short  and  let  his 
bundle  slip  to  the  ground.  They  had  come 
out  upon  a  great  space,  which  a  few  months 
before  had  been  an  open  heath.  Now,  as  far 
as  the  eye  could  reach,  stretched  long  lines  of 
tents.  It  was  no  temporary  lodging,  for  here 
and  there  small  frame  store  buildings  had 


DOWN  THE   RIVER  39 

been  erected  and  there  were  long-used,  dusty 
paths  between  the  tents.  Men  and  women 
and  children  were  going  about,  meals  were 
being  prepared,  there  was  everywhere  the 
sound  of  voices.  John  Conrad  stood  still  in 
amazement. 

"  What  is  this?"  he  asked. 

A  single  sharp  voice  answered  from  the 
doorway  of  a  sutler's  shop. 

"We  are  Germans,  lured  hither  by  promise 
of  passage  to  America.  Here  we  wait.  Here 
we  have  waited  for  months.  Have  you  come, 
oh,  fool,  to  wait  also?" 

It  was  not  the  rudeness  of  the  answer  which 
startled  John  Conrad,  nor  the  discouraging 
news  which  it  announced,  but  the  voice  of  the 
speaker.  For  the  speaker  was  none  other  than 
his  friend  the  magistrate  of  Oberdorf,  sup- 
posed to  be  by  now  upon  the  high  seas  or  in 
the  new  country. 


Ill 

BLACKHEATH 

FOR  a  long  moment  Heinrich  Albrecht, 
the  magistrate  of  Oberdorf,  and  John 
Conrad  Weiser,  his  friend,  looked  at  each 
other.  John  Conrad  was  the  first  to  speak, 
in  a  voice  trembling  with  amazement  and 
alarm. 

"Have  you  returned,  Heinrich?" 

The  magistrate  burst  into  a  loud  laugh. 
He  was  a  tall,  thin  man,  of  a  type  to  whom 
inaction  is  misery. 

"I  have  not  been  away.  Here"  —  he 
waved  his  hand  with  a  wide  motion  over 
Blackheath  —  "here  we  lie,  idle  pensioners. 
Here  we  have  been  since  May,  ever  encour- 
aged, ever  deluded.  Here  idleness  and  evil 
customs  are  corrupting  our  youth.  Here  we 
are  dying." 

Now  the  full  meaning  of  the  crowded 
Rhine  and  the  warning  of  the  Hollanders 
burst  upon  John  Conrad.    He  looked  at  his 


BLACKHEATH  41 

children,  at  the  young  girls,  at  the  little  boys, 
and  finally  at  plump,  smiling  John  Frederick. 
He  thrust  his  hand  into  his  almost  empty 
pocket,  thinking  of  the  long  journey  back  to 
Gross  Anspach  for  which  he  had  no  money. 
He  thought  of  his  high  hopes  of  liberty  and 
peace  and  independence.  He  covered  his  face 
with  his  hands  so  that  his  children  might  not 
see  his  tears. 

"  I  am  here,  father! "  cried  Conrad.  "  I  am 
strong!    I  can  work!" 

"They  feed  us,"  conceded  the  magistrate 
of  Oberdorf.  "And  they  have  given  us  some 
clothing  and  these  tents.  But  cold  weather 
will  come  and  we  shall  die." 

"Cold  weather!  We  should  be  in  the  new 
country  by  cold  weather!  You  yourself 
wrote  that  you  were  about  to  sail,  that  you 
would  sail  on  the  next  day.  There!"  John 
Conrad  drew  from  his  bosom  the  tattered 
letter.  "I  have  stayed  my  soul  upon  it!  I 
have  set  out  on  this  journey  upon  faith  in 
it!" 

11 1  thought  we  should  start.  I  was  certain 
we  should  start.  They  say  there  are  no  ships. 


42         THE   LONG  JOURNEY 

They  have  begun  to  send  some  of  us  to  Ire- 
land." 

John  Conrad  shook  his  head. 

"This  whole  land  is  sick.  Across  the  ocean 
only  there  is  peace." 

"I  can  get  a  tent  for  you  beside  mine," 
offered  Albrecht.  "I  have  a  little  influence 
with  those  in  authority." 

Once  more  the  Weisers  shouldered  their 
bundles.  They  crossed  the  wide  camp, 
greeted  pleasantly  here  and  there,  but  f6r  the 
most  part  stared  at  silently  and  contemptu- 
ously. Finally  the  magistrate  acknowledged 
grudgingly  that  the  English  people  had  been 
liberal  and  kind. 

"But  they  are  growing  tired.  The  com- 
mon people  say  we  are  taking  the  bread  from 
their  mouths." 

The  farther  the  Weisers  proceeded  through 
the  city  of  tents,  the  more  astonished  they 
became. 

"The  poor  Germans  have  washed  like  the 
waves  of  the  sea  upon  these  shores,"  said 
Albrecht. 

John  Conrad  shook  his  head  in  answer, 


BLACKHEATH  43 

having  no  more  words  with  which  to  express 
his  astonishment. 

The  Weisers  made  themselves  as  comfort- 
able as  possible  in  the  tent  assigned  them. 
They  unpacked  the  bundles  which  they  had 
expected  to  unpack  only  in  the  new  country, 
they  received  a  portion  of  the  generous  sup- 
ply of  food  which  was  given  out  each  morning 
and  evening,  and  then,  like  the  thousands 
of  their  fellow  countrymen,  they  waited,  now 
hopefully,  now  almost  in  despair,  for  some 
change  in  their  condition. 

But  no  sign  of  change  appeared.  Day  after 
day  John  Conrad  and  the  magistrate  and  the 
friends  whom  they  made  among  the  more 
intelligent  and  thoughtful  of  the  pilgrims  met 
and  talked  and  looked  toward  the  Black- 
heath  Road  for  some  messenger  from  the 
Queen.  The  young  people  made  acquaint- 
ance; the  children  played  games  and  ran  races 
up  and  down  the  streets  of  the  city  of  tents. 
Sometimes  Conrad  listened  to  his  elders  and 
sometimes  he  played  his  flute  for  the  children. 

Suddenly  the  weather  changed.  The  out- 
door life  which  had  been  pleasant  became 


44         THE   LONG  JOURNEY 

more  and  more  difficult  to  bear.  The  nights 
grew  cold ;  the  Germans  shivered  in  their  poor 
clothes.  Now,  also,  another  and  a  more  seri- 
ous danger  threatened  them. 

The  cooking  was  done  over  open  fires,  and 
the  Weisers  went  daily  into  a  forest  a  few 
miles  away  to  gather  sticks  for  their  contri- 
bution to  the  one  nearest  to  them.  One  day  a 
young  Englishman,  with  an  evil  face,  spoke 
roughly  to  Margareta,  who  cowered  back. 
He  went  nearer  to  her  and  she  screamed 
in  terror.  For  an  instant  Conrad  watched 
stupidly,  then,  suddenly,  his  heart  seemed 
to  expand.  He  was,  as  his  father  had  said, 
strong-headed  and  strong-willed. 

"Let  her  be!"  he  shouted. 

The  stranger  laughed,  and  approached 
nearer  still.  They  could  not  understand  what 
he  said,  nor  did  he  have  opportunity  to  con- 
tinue what  he  had  begun  to  say.  Before  his 
hand  touched  the  arm  of  Margareta,  he  found 
himself  upon  the  ground.  Conrad  was  not 
tall,  but  he  had  strong  muscles;  now  from  his 
safe  position  on  the  chest  of  the  enemy  he 
was  able  to  dictate  terms  of  peace. 


BLACKHEATH  45 

"You  get  up  and  run  as  fast  as  you  can 
down  the  road,"  he  shouted.  "George  Fred- 
erick, give  me  that  big  stick." 

Fortunately  the  Englishman  had  no  friends 
at  hand.  He  looked  about  wildly,  first  at 
the  Weisers,  then  toward  the  camp,  and 
promptly  did  as  he  was  bid.  As  he  went,  he 
shouted  a  threat. 

"  Your  whole  camp  is  to  be  wiped  out,"  he 
yelled  from  a  safe  distance.  "Wait and  you 
will  see! " 

The  hearts  of  the  Germans,  growing  daily 
more  alarmed,  were  no  more  disturbed, 
meanwhile,  than  were  the  hearts  of  Queen 
Anne  and  her  ministers.  While  the  unex- 
pected thousands  lay  upon  Blackheath,  min- 
ister consulted  with  minister,  boards  of  trade 
met  to  discuss  plans  and  to  give  them  up, 
and  to  discuss  other  plans  and  to  adjourn 
and  to  meet  again.  It  was  true  that  Queen 
Anne  desired  to  settle  her  colony  of  New 
York,  true  that  the  news  of  her  desire  had 
been  spread  abroad.  But  she  had  not  antici- 
pated this  great  migration,  like  the  locusts  of 
Egypt  for  numbers!    Ships  were  lacking  to 


46         THE   LONG  JOURNEY 

transport  them;  suitable  asylums  were  lack- 
ing and  the  Germans  themselves,  fleeing  like 
helpless  children,  were  not  able  to  take  care 
of  themselves. 

Scores  of  wise  and  foolish  suggestions  were 
offered.  The  Germans  were  to  be  sent  to  dis- 
tant parishes,  together  with  a  bounty  for 
each  one.  But  the  parishes  did  not  welcome 
them;  those  who  were  sent  returned,  poorer, 
weaker,  more  helpless  than  before.  There 
were  hundreds  of  good  workmen  among  them, 
but  even  the  English  workman  could  scarcely 
earn  his  bread.  Let  them  go  to  Ireland,  let 
them  go  to  Wales,  let  them  return  to  Ger- 
many. 

And  still,  while  the  English  talked,  the 
Germans  came.  Finally,  Her  Majesty's 
Council,  meeting  almost  daily,  reached  a 
conclusion  and  orders  were  given  for  the 
assembling  of  ships.  Action  was  hastened  by 
an  extraordinary  incident  in  which  Conrad 
and  his  father  had  a  part. 

The  heavy  frosts  had  begun  and  there  was 
not  an  hour  when  the  Germans  did  not  ache 
with  the  cold.    The  quantity  of  food    had 


BLACKHEATH  47 

become  smaller,  the  quality  poorer  than  at 
first.  But  worse  than  cold  or  hunger  was  the 
danger  from  the  rising  resentment  of  the 
Londoners,  who  demanded  that  this  great 
mass  of  foreigners  be  removed. 

Conrad,  left  to  himself,  with  little  to  do, 
roamed  about  the  city,  staring  at  its  mar- 
vels, at  strange  London  Bridge,  crowded 
with  shops  and  houses  which  hung  over  the 
water,  at  mighty  Saint  Paul's  Cathedral,  lift- 
ing its  round  dome,  still  beautifully  white 
and  clean,  far  above  the  gabled  city  roofs,  at 
the  other  new  churches  built  since  the  great 
fire,  and  at  the  soaring  monument  which 
commemorated  the  fire.  He  even  looked  with 
awe  and  horror  at  the  sad  and  terrible  spot 
where  had  been  buried,  in  a  deep  pit,  the 
victims  of  the  great  plague. 

Conrad's  journeys  were  not  always  com- 
fortable. English  lads  taunted  him,  gayly 
dressed  young  men  ordered  him  out  of  their 
path,  the  bearers  of  sedan  chairs  thrust  him 
rudely  against  the  house  walls.  But  still  he 
walked  about,  watching  and  listening. 

Presently  he  heard  terrifying  threats.  The 


48         THE   LONG  JOURNEY 

Londoners  determined  to  wait  no  longer  to 
wreak  their  vengeance  upon  Blackheath. 
Conrad  hurried  down  the  long  road  to  make 
report  to  his  father. 

"They  mean  to  attack  us  with  knives, 
father.  They  declare  they  will  have  no 
mercy  upon  us!" 

"They  would  not  dare,"  answered  John 
Conrad.  "We  are  under  the  protection  of  the 
Queen." 

Nevertheless,  John  Conrad  called  together 
his  friends,  and  together  they  drew  up  a  hum- 
ble petition,  praying  that  the  English  people 
continue  to  look  kindly  upon  them  and  to 
bestow  bounty  upon  them. 

But  the  petition  availed  nothing.  That 
very  night,  Conrad,  lying  in  his  corner  of 
the  tent  near  the  edge  of  the  camp,  heard 
the  sound  of  rough  voices  and  heavy  steps. 
Springing  up,  he  looked  out  the  door.  On  the 
heath  a  large  company  had  gathered,  carry- 
ing knives  and  sickles  which  gleamed  in  the 
moonlight.  With  a  shout  Conrad  roused  his 
family,  whose  cries  in  turn  roused  the  sleep- 
ers in  the  neighboring  tents.    The  attacking 


BLACKHEATH  49 

party  was  defeated,  not  so  much  by  the  re- 
sistance of  the  Germans,  few  of  whom  had 
arms,  as  by  a  warning  that  the  soldiers  were 
coming  from  London.  The  Germans  were 
not  seriously  hurt,  but  the  event  was  omi- 
nous. 

Still  the  days  grew  shorter,  and  the  dark 
nights  longer,  and  the  air  colder.  Hundreds 
gathered  round  the  fires,  and  among  them 
John  Conrad  counseled  further  patience  and 
continued  courage.  Frequently  he  read  to 
them  from  Conrad's  little  book,  at  whose 
directions  for  life  on  the  ocean  and  in  the  new 
land  there  were  now  bitter  smiles  and  long 
sighs.  They  had  ceased  to  think  of  the  new 
country  with  its  rich  soil,  its  mild  climate,  and 
its  strange,  interesting  aborigines,  except  to 
envy  the  Indian  his  indifference  to  the  com- 
forts of  civilization. 

Upon  the  day  of  the  first  snow,  Conrad 
went  early  into  the  city.  He  had  earned  a 
penny  a  few  days  before  by  carrying  some 
bales  from  a  ship  to  a  warehouse,  and  he 
hoped  to  earn  more. 

Until  noon  he  walked  about  the  streets. 


50  THE   LONG  JOURNEY 

Again  and  again  he  was  cursed  and  threat- 
ened. The  Londoners  had  not  finished  with 
the  Germans  in  spite  of  their  temporary  de- 
feat. At  noon  he  ate  the  piece  of  black  bread 
which  he  had  put  into  his  pocket,  and  then 
went  into  a  cold  church  to  rest.  Presently  he 
fell  asleep,  and  when  he  woke  late  in  the  after- 
noon the  church  was  almost  dark.  He  was 
miles  away  from  Blackheath  and  he  must 
set  out  promptly  or  the  dangers  of  the  way 
would  be  doubled.  The  week  before  he  had 
been  caught  in  a  fog  and  had  spent  the  night 
inside  a  garden  gate  on  the  ground. 

Leaving  the  church,  he  hurried  on  as  fast 
as  he  could.  It  seemed  to  him  that  another 
fog  was  rapidly  gathering  over  the  city.  His 
long  walks  and  the  insufficient  food  had  made 
him  weak,  but  it  was  better  to  start  on  the 
homeward  journey  than  to  linger.  He  might 
fall  into  evil  hands  and  never  see  his  father  or 
brothers  or  sisters  again.  The  words  of  old 
Redebach  in  far-away  Gross  Anspach  came 
back  to  him  as  he  stepped  out  from  the  church 
door  into  an  open  square,  —  "As  a  bird  that 
wander eth  from  her  nest,  so  is  a  man  that  wan- 


BLACKHEATH  51 

dereth  from  his  place"  Perhaps  old  Rede- 
bach  was  right! 

In  the  square,  sedan  chairs  moved  about, 
link  boys  waved  their  torches  and  shouted, 
rough  men  jostled  him.  Presently  his  tears 
gathered  and  began  to  fall.  He  lowered  his 
head  and  plodded  on  down  the  street,  little 
dreaming  that  before  him  waited  one  of  the 
strangest  encounters,  not  only  in  his  life,  but 
in  the  strange  history  of  the  world. 

Too  tired  and  despairing  to  remember  that 
traveling  with  bent  head  is  unsafe,  struggling 
to  keep  back  his  tears,  he  ceased  suddenly  to 
feel  anything.  He  came  full  force  against  one 
of  the  new  lamp-posts  recently  set  up,  and 
was  thrown  backwards. 

When  he  came  to  himself,  he  heard  but  one 
sound,  that  of  cruel  laughter.  The  amuse- 
ment of  the  onlookers  was  the  last  drop  in 
poor  Conrad's  cup  of  grief.  As  he  staggered 
to  his  feet,  he  said  to  himself  that  he  wished 
that  the  lamp-post  had  brought  him  to  that 
death  which  was  approaching  for  him  and  his 
fellow  countrymen. 

When  the  dizziness  following  his  fall  had 


52         THE   LONG  JOURNEY 

passed  and  he  was  ready  to  start  on  once 
more,  he  observed  that  the  steps  of  the  pass- 
ers-by were  unusually  hurried  and  that  all 
led  in  the  same  direction.  He  looked  back  to 
see  the  object  toward  which  they  were  has- 
tening. At  the  sight  which  met  his  eyes  he 
gave  a  startled  cry.  He  was  dreaming  or  he 
had  gone  mad. 

This  was  England  and  London,  this  was 
the  heart  of  the  largest  city  in  the  world. 
America,  the  longed-for,  with  its  great  forests 
and  its  mighty  hunters,  lay  far  across  the  sea 
three  thousand  miles  away.  But  through  the 
London  fog,  surrounded  by  a  great  crowd 
above  whom  they  towered,  there  came  toward 
Conrad  four  giant  creatures,  with  bronze- 
colored  skins,  with  deer-hide  shoes,  with 
headdresses  of  waving  feathers,  and  with 
scarlet  blankets.  Conrad  rubbed  his  eyes;  he 
looked  again.  They  came  nearer  and  nearer, 
they  seemed  more  and  more  majestic  and 
terrible. 

Then,  suddenly,  they  vanished,  as  though 
the  earth  had  swallowed  them.  They  could 
not  have  entered  a  house  since  there  were  no 


BLACKHEATH  53 

dwelling-houses  here,  and  the  shops  were 
closed.  Risking  a  rebuff  as  cruel  as  that  from 
the  lamp-post,  Conrad  grasped  the  arm  of  the 
man  nearest  him  and  poured  out  a  dozen 
excited  questions. 

"These  are  Indians  from  the  wilds  of 
America,"  answered  the  stranger. 

"Why  are  they  here?  What  does  it  mean? 
Could  I  speak  to  them?  Where  did  they  go?  " 

The  stranger's  patience  was  soon  ex- 
hausted. After  he  had  explained  that  the 
savages  had  gone  into  the  theater,  he  left 
Conrad  to  address  his  questions  to  the  empty 
air. 

For  a  moment  Conrad  stared  at  the  spot 
from  which  the  Indians  had  vanished.  If  he 
only  had  money  to  pay  his  way  into  the  the- 
ater also!  But  he  was  penniless.  The  next 
best  thing  was  to  tell  his  father,  as  soon  as 
possible,  of  this  incredible  experience.  Run- 
ning heavily,  he  crossed  London  Bridge  and 
started  out  upon  the  Blackheath  Road,  say- 
ing over  and  over  to  himself,  "The  Indians 
are  here!   The  Indians  are  here!" 

So  tired  was  he  and  so  much  confused  by 


54         THE   LONG  JOURNEY 

the  strange  sight  which  he  had  seen  that  it 
was  many  hours  before  he  reached  his  father's 
tent.  He  imagined  that  the  long  journey  had 
been  made  and  that  he  was  already  in  the 
forests  of  the  new  country.  At  last  an  ac- 
quaintance, meeting  him  at  the  edge  of  the 
camp,  led  him  to  John  Conrad. 

"  Here  is  your  boy.  He  was  about  to  walk 
straight  into  a  fire." 

Fed  and  warmed,  Conrad  could  only  repeat 
over  and  over  the  magic  words,  "The  Indians 
are  here!"  His  father  thought  he  was  deliri- 
ous; the  children  cried.  For  a  long  time  after 
he  had  fallen  into  the  heavy  sleep  of  exhaus- 
tion, his  sisters  watched  him. 

At  dawn,  when  he  woke,  he  found  himself 
stiff  and  sore  and  inexpressibly  tired.  But  his 
head  was  clear,  and  slowly  the  events  of  the 
day  before  came  back  to  him.  The  Indians 
were  real ;  to-day  he  would  find  them.  If  they 
had  come  from  America  there  would  be  a  way 
to  return.  He  would  beg  them  on  his  knees  to 
take  him  and  his  family  with  them.  Perhaps 
they  had  come  in  their  own  ships. 

Slipping  from  between  his  sleeping  brothers, 


BLACKHEATH  55 

he  lifted  the  flap  of  the  tent  and  stepped 
out  into  the  cold  morning  air.  He  could  not 
wait  for  the  family  to  rise;  he  would  take  his 
share  of  black  bread  and  be  gone. 

Then,  again,  Conrad  cried  out.  Last  night 
he  had  beheld  the  strangers  through  the 
medium  of  a  thickening  mist  and  with  eyes 
confused  by  his  fall.  Now  he  saw  them  clearly 
in  the  bright  morning  light,  here  upon  Black- 
heath  before  his  father's  tent!  The  eagle 
feathers  waved  above  their  heads ;  their  scar- 
let mantles  wrapped  them  round;  they  stole 
quietly  about  on  moccasined  feet. 

For  a  long  moment  the  Indians  looked  at 
Conrad  and  Conrad  looked  back  at  them.  It 
was  as  though  they  measured  one  another 
through  an  eternity,  the  tall  savages  from 
across  three  thousand  miles  of  sea  and  the 
little  lad  from  Gross  Anspach.  The  lad's 
heart  throbbed  with  awe  and  wonder.  What 
the  savages  thought  it  was  difficult  to  say. 
They  made  to  one  another  strange  guttural 
sounds  which  evidently  served  for  speech.  It 
seemed  to  Conrad  that  they  were  about  to 
turn  away.   It  was  as  though  a  heavenly  visi- 


56         THE   LONG  JOURNEY 

tor  had  descended  only  to  depart.  Conrad 
ran  forward  and  grasped  the  hand  of  one  of 
the  mighty  creatures. 

"Oh,  take  us  with  you,  father  and  Mar- 
gareta  and  Magdalena  and  the  others  and 
me !  Take  us  with  you !  We  will  work  and  we 
will  learn  to  hunt.  There  is  no  home  for  us 
here.   We  suffer  and  die.   We  — " 

There  was  a  commotion  at  the  tent  door 
and  Conrad  looked  round.  In  the  doorway 
stood  John  Conrad,  blinking,  incredulous. 

"I  saw  them  last  night,  father.  I  have 
asked  them  to  take  us  with  them."  Conrad 
began  to  make  gestures.  "Us,  with  you,  far 
away  to  the  west!"  It  was  a  request  easy  to 
make  clear. 

Again  the  savages  uttered  their  strange 
guttural  speech.  They,  in  turn,  made  motions 
to  John  Conrad  and  his  son,  that  they  should 
come  with  them.  Not  for  an  instant  did  John 
Conrad  hesitate.  Upon  this  miraculous  en- 
counter important  things  might  depend. 

"Conrad,"  he  began,  "while  I  am  gone  — " 

"Oh,  father,  take  me  with  you!  I  beg,  take 
me  with  you!" 


BLACKHEATH  57 

11  Run  and  find  Albrecht  then,  my  son,  and 
ask  him  to  look  after  the  children." 

Conrad  was  gone  like  the  wind.  Now  the 
Weiser  children  and  the  neighbors  were  star- 
ing with  terrified  eyes  at  the  red  men.  They 
gave  a  little  scream  when  John  Frederick  tod- 
dled forward  and  fell  over  the  foot  of  one  of 
the  Indians  and  then  held  their  breaths  while 
he  was  lifted  high  in  the  strong  arms.  John 
Conrad  offered  some  of  his  small  supply  of 
black  bread  and  his  strange  guests  grunted 
their  pleased  acceptance.  Then  John  Conrad 
and  his  son  set  out  with  the  Indians  to  make 
the  rounds  of  the  camp. 

What  the  savages  thought  of  the  assem- 
blage of  misery  it  was  hard  to  say.  They 
walked  briskly  so  that  the  two  Weisers  could 
scarcely  keep  up  with  them;  they  pointed 
now  to  a  sick  child,  now  to  some  adult  who 
showed  more  clearly  than  the  others  the  ef- 
fects of  cold  and  anxiety  and  hunger.  Often 
they  motioned  toward  the  west,  a  gesture 
which  it  seemed  to  Conrad  had  a  heavenly 
significance. 

When  the  circuit  of  the  camp  was  com- 


58         THE   LONG  JOURNEY 

plete,  they  made  it  plain  to  the  Weisers  that 
they  expected  them  to  follow  to  the  city,  and 
father  and  son,  looking  their  vague  hopes  into 
one  another's  eyes,  obeyed  eagerly. 

Along  the  Blackheath  Road  they  went, 
through  Southwark  and  across  London 
Bridge  —  how  many  times  had  Conrad  trav- 
eled the  road  in  despair!  Presently,  when, 
after  they  had  crossed  the  Thames  and  were 
in  the  city,  a  man  would  have  jostled  Conrad 
from  his  place  beside  the  leader,  the  Indian 
cried  out  fiercely,  and  the  stranger  dropped 
quickly  back  into  the  long  queue  of  men  and 
boys  who  had  gathered.  Now  the  Indians  mo- 
tioned to  Conrad  that  he  should  walk  behind 
the  leader  and  his  father  behind  him.  Thus 
strangely  escorted,  the  two  Germans  went 
through  the  streets.  Conrad  saw  in  the  eyes 
of  the  boys  whom  they  passed  a  look  of  envy. 
The  course  of  fate  had  changed ! 

A  few  times  John  Conrad  spoke  to  his  son. 

"Are  you  afraid?" 

"Not  I." 

"  Pray  God  that  this  strange  way  may  lead 
to  the  new  land." 


BLACKHEATH  59 

"I  will,  father." 

With  heads  erect  the  chiefs  went  on  as 
though  they  trod  the  leafy  paths  of  their  own 
forests.  Presently  they  came  out  upon  the 
river-bank  once  more,  traveled  upon  it  for  a 
short  distance,  then  turned  aside.  The  crowd 
about  them  had  changed  its  character.  Here 
were  fine  gentlemen  and  ladies  on  foot  and  in 
richly  decked  sedan  chairs.  A  gentleman  came 
forward  with  a  sharp  exclamation  and  pointed 
questioningly  at  the  Weisers.  One  of  the 
Indians  answered  by  gestures  and  a  few  in- 
comprehensible words,  and  the  gentleman 
looked  as  though  he  were  considering  some 
strange  thing.  When  the  Indians  walked  on 
without  waiting  for  his  answer,  Conrad  began 
to  be  frightened. 

"Where  will  they  take  us,  father?" 

John  Conrad's  voice  trembled. 

"They  are  taking  us  into  the  Queen's  pal- 
ace," said  he. 


IV 
A  ROYAL  AUDIENCE 

AT  the  door  of  St.  James's  Palace  all  but 
a  few  of  the  throng  which  followed  the 
Indian  chiefs  and  the  Weisers  were  denied 
entrance.  The  finely  dressed  gentleman  who 
had  spoken  to  the  Indians,  and  who  evidently 
knew  their  own  language,  was  allowed  to  pass 
under  the  stone  archway  and  into  the  court 
and  thence  into  the  palace  itself.  The  Indians 
still  led  the  way,  traveling  quietly  along 
through  intricate  passages  and  tapestry-hung 
halls.  Courtiers  passed  them  with  curious 
stares. 

Still  they  kept  the  two  Weisers  behind  the 
leader.  Presently  they  halted  in  a  room  where 
there  was  a  fire  blazing  on  the  hearth  and 
where  fine  ladies  laughed  and  talked.  On  the 
opposite  side  from  the  entrance  a  thick  cur- 
tain hung  over  a  doorway.  The  leading  chief 
walked  directly  toward  it  and  there  paused, 
the  procession  behind  him  coming  to  a  stop. 


A   ROYAL  AUDIENCE  61 

A  little  lady  sitting  by  the  fire  accepted  a 
challenge  from  her  companions  to  salute  the 
strangers,  and  came  across  the  floor,  her  high 
heels  tapping  as  she  walked. 

"O  great  King  of  Rivers,"  said  she  to  the 
foremost  Indian,  "who  are  these  your  com- 
panions?" 

The  Indian's  answer  was  interpreted  by  the 
gayly  dressed  gentleman  who  understood  his 
tongue. 

"The  King  of  Rivers  says  that  these  are  his 
friends." 

"Thank  you,  Colonel  Schuyler.  Tell  the 
King  of  Rivers  that  his  friends  need  a  red 
blanket  like  his  own  and  — " 

What  else  they  needed  Conrad  and  his 
father  were  not  to  hear.  The  curtain  before 
them  was  lifted,  and  from  the  other  side  a 
high,  clear  voice  announced,  — 

"The  chiefs  of  the  Mohawk  Nation!" 

Moving  as  in  a  dream,  their  eyes  dazzled 
and  their  hearts  confused,  the  two  Weisers 
went  on.  They  found  themselves  now  in  a 
still  more  magnificent  room.  At  its  far  end 
there  was  a  group  of  gentlemen  surrounding 


62         THE   LONG  JOURNEY 

a  lady  who  sat  in  a  throne-like  chair.  She 
was  grave  of  aspect  and  there  was  upon  her 
face  the  indelible  impression  of  grief.  On  her 
white  hands  and  her  neck  were  sparkling 
jewels.  The  gentlemen  about  her  were  wigged 
and  powdered,  and  wore  in  their  long  sleeves 
white  lace  ruffles  which  almost  hid  their 
hands. 

So  astonished  and  confused  was  Conrad 
that  his  father  had  to  command  him  twice 
to  make  obeisance. 

"To  your  knees,  boy!  To  your  knees, 
Conrad!   It  is  the  Queen!" 

The  Indians  did  not  bend,  but  stood  with 
arms  folded  under  their  scarlet  blankets,  in 
their  dark,  shining  eyes  a  look  of  friendly  re- 
gard for  the  little  lady  who  was  a  ruler  like 
themselves.  The  Queen  looked  at  the  two 
Germans  with  curious  but  kindly  astonish- 
ment. Neither  John  Conrad  nor  his  son  was 
in  court  array,  though  the  needles  of  Mar- 
gareta  and  Magdalena  kept  them  fairly  neat 
and  whole. 

"Good  Peter,"  said  Queen  Anne,  "who  are 
these?"  - 


A   ROYAL  AUDIENCE  63 

The  stranger  who  had  interpreted  for  the 
Indians  rose  from  his  knees. 

"They  are  Germans  from  the  camp  on 
Blackheath,  dear  madam.  Your  friends  of  the 
Mohawk  Nation  went  early  this  morning  to 
visit  that  great  settlement  and  have  brought 
with  them  from  there  these  folk,  father  and 
son,  to  their  appointment  with  the  Queen. 
From  this  intention  they  could  not  be  stayed, 
but  insist  that  they  have  a  communication  of 
importance  to  make  concerning  these  stran- 
gers." 

The  Queen  looked  smilingly  at  her  Indian 
friends  and  then  at  the  two  Germans. 

"The  condition  of  those  helpless  people  is 
on  our  minds.  Let  our  friends  of  the  Mohawk 
Nation  speak." 

Surely  the  audience  room  had  never  heard 
a  stranger  sound  than  that  which  now  filled 
it!  The  tallest  of  the  chiefs  responded,  speak- 
ing at  length,  with  many  sweeping  gestures. 
Conrad  strained  his  ears  —  oh,  how  long- 
ingly! —  but  could  understand  nothing.  The 
chief  seemed  to  be  speaking  of  some  spot  far 
away  and  also  of  the  two  Germans.    One 


64         THE   LONG  JOURNEY 

word  Conrad  heard,  he  was  certain,  again  and 
again,  but  he  could  not  retain  its  strange 
sound. 

When  the  Indian  had  finished,  Colonel 
Schuyler  began  to  translate  his  words,  imitat- 
ing also  his  motions  toward  the  west  and  his 
pointing  to  the  Weisers. 

"  Your  friend  the  King  of  Rivers  has  this 
to  say,  O  Queen.  He  and  his  companions  of 
the  Mohawk  Nation  have  walked  about  to 
see  the  city  where  so  many  hundreds  of  peo- 
ple live  in  so  small  a  space.  Far  to  the  south 
they  have  visited  also  the  settlement  of  mis- 
ery known  as  the  German  camp.  The  distress 
of  these  people  is  terrible  to  them.  It  is  a 
dreadful  thing  to  them  that  men  should  be  so 
crowded  together  when  there  is  so  much  space 
in  the  world,  so  much  land  for  planting  corn 
and  so  many  wide  forests  for  hunting.  The 
King  of  Rivers  recalls  to  you  the  object  of  his 
long  and  perilous  journey  across  the  ocean 
in  an  unsteady  ship.  He  reminds  you  that 
he  seeks  for  himself  and  his  allied  nations 
protection  against  the  growing  power  of  his 
enemies,  both  Indian  and  French. 


A   ROYAL  AUDIENCE  65 

"Now  he  would  offer  for  these  poor  Ger- 
mans his  country  of  Schoharie"  —  there  was 
the  word  which  Conrad  had  heard  again  and 
again!  —  "where  there  are  fine  streams  for 
fishing  and  much  land  for  planting  and  hunt- 
ing. There,  when  there  is  no  war,  men  and 
women  are  happiest  of  all  the  places  on  the 
earth.  His  people  are  faithful  people,  keep- 
ing their  word,  and  aiding  and '  protecting 
unto  death  those  in  whom  they  can  trust.  If 
you  will  send  these  afflicted  people  to  Scho- 
harie, then  together  the  Indians  and  the  Ger- 
mans can  keep  the  peace  with  the  western 
Indians,  and  the  French  will  not  dare  to  at- 
tack them." 

The  Indians  nodded  their  heads  solemnly 
as  Colonel  Schuyler  finished.  They  had  en- 
tire confidence  in  him  and  trusted  him  to 
repeat  their  words  exactly. 

The  Queen  looked  at  the  two  humble  fig- 
ures before  her.  Their  blue  eyes  met  hers 
with  a  great  longing. 

"Speak!"  said  she. 

John  Conrad  took  a  step  forward.  His  Eng- 
lish was  broken,  but  none  the  less  eloquent. 


66         THE   LONG  JOURNEY 

"Oh,  Madam,  all  they  say  of  our  misery  is 
true.  We  are  indeed  desolate  and  afflicted. 
We  have  been  harried  by  the  sword ;  we  have 
perished  by  cold  and  starvation.  Your  ene- 
mies the  French  are  our  enemies.  At  the 
hands  of  our  own  princes  we  have  perished 
for  conscience'  sake.  We  are  of  your  faith, 
O  Queen !  —  those  of  us  that  are  left.  The 
good  God  in  heaven  does  not  send  his  crea- 
tures into  the  world  to  be  thus  destroyed.  We 
seek  not  idleness  and  repose  for  our  bodies, 
but  labor  for  our  bodies  and  repose  for  our 
souls.  We  long  as  the  hart  pants  after  water 
brooks  for  this  new  country.  You  have 
brought  us  thus  far  out  of  our  wilderness; 
send  us  now  into  this  new  land  where  there  is 
peace!  We  have  nothing,  nothing.  We  can- 
not pay  except  by  our  labor  in  a  new  country. 
We  ask  bounty  as  we  ask  the  bounty  of 
Heaven,  because  we  are  helpless.  You  have 
already  marvelously  befriended  us.  But  for 
you  we  should  not  be  living  at  this  day." 

The  Queen  turned  to  the  gentleman  who 
sat  nearest  to  her. 

"He  speaks  well,  my  lord." 


A  ROYAL  AUDIENCE  67 

"He  speaks  from  the  soul,  Madam." 

Now  the  Queen  conversed  rapidly  and  in  a 
low  tone  with  Peter  Schuyler  —  too  rapidly 
for  the  Weisers  to  understand.  She  men- 
tioned one  Hunter  of  whom  they  knew  noth- 
ing, and  they  waited  uneasily,  afraid  that 
their  audience  was  at  an  end  and  that  noth- 
ing had  been  accomplished.  When  the  door- 
keeper came  forward  and  led  them  away, 
leaving  their  Indian  friends  behind,  their 
hearts  sank.  They  made  obeisance  to  the 
Queen  and  went  slowly  toward  the  door,  not 
daring  to  speak.  Then  they  saw  that  Colonel 
Schuyler  followed  them. 

"This  day  one  week  at  this  hour  the  Queen 
will  see  you  again.  Can  you  find  your  way 
thither?" 

"Oh,  yes,  my  lord!"  answered  John  Con- 
rad. 

Outside  the  two  met  again  curious  glances, 
heard  again  amused  comment.  But  they  re- 
garded neither,  scarcely  indeed  saw  the  smiles 
or  heard  the  laughter.  Hope  had  once  more 
taken  up  an  abode  in  their  weary  hearts. 

Daily  in  the  week  which  followed,  Conrad 


68         THE   LONG  JOURNEY 

made  his  way  from  Blackheath  to  St.  James's 
Palace,  where  he  gazed  at  the  stone  archway 
and  then  wandered  farther  hoping  to  see 
again  the  Indians.  To  the  other  Germans  the 
Weisers  said  nothing  of  their  hopes.  The  In- 
dians had  led  them  into  the  city  and  had 
there  held  conversation  with  them  through 
an  interpreter,  —  beyond  that  fact  they  did 
not  go.  Their  fellow  countrymen  had  been 
too  often  cruelly  disappointed;  until  the 
blessed  possibilities  of  which  the  Weisers 
dreamed  had  become  certainties,  they  would 
say  nothing. 

Yet  hope  in  their  own  hearts  rose  higher 
and  higher.  Once  more  Conrad  read  his  little 
book,  finding  in  his  new  acquaintances  proof 
of  all  that  was  said  in  praise  of  the  Indian 
and  contradiction  of  all  that  was  said  in  his 
disparagement.  The  word  " Schoharie"  he 
wrote  down  and  said  over  and  over  in  his 
waking  hours  and  in  his  dreams  at  night. 

He  had  formed  a  friendship  with  a  lad  of 
his  own  age,  Peter  Zenger  by  name,  who,  with 
his  ailing  father,  had  suffered  as  the  Weisers 
had  suffered  and  who  had  a  similar  longing 


A   ROYAL   AUDIENCE  69 

for  the  new  land.  From  Peter  during  this 
week  he  held  aloof,  determined  to  tell  his 
secret  to  no  one. 

Conrad  thought  a  great  deal  of  his  father 
and  of  the  attentive  way  in  which  the  Queen 
and  her  court  had  listened  to  him.  His  father 
was  poor  and  he  had  miserable  clothes,  yet  he 
had  not  trembled.  Of  all  the  Germans  no  one, 
not  even  the  magistrate  of  Oberdorf,  who 
was  so  certain  of  his  own  powers,  could  have 
done  so  well. 

On  the  morning  of  the  appointment  John 
Conrad  and  his  son  waited  for  an  hour  out- 
side the  palace  gateway.  The  unkindly  feel- 
ing of  the  populace  toward  the  Germans  had 
increased  rather  than  diminished,  and  as  they 
walked  up  and  down  many  persons  spoke 
roughly  to  them.  But  again,  wrapped  in 
their  own  anxious  thoughts,  they  heard  with 
indifference. 

Again  the  Queen  sat  in  the  throne-like 
chair  with  her  gentlemen  about  her,  the  same 
gentlemen  so  far  as  Conrad  could  see,  except 
one  who  now  sat  nearest  to  the  Queen  and  to 
whom  she  was  speaking  when  they  entered. 


70         THE   LONG  JOURNEY 

They  looked  in  vain  for  their  friends  of  the 
Mohawk  Nation. 

The  Queen  bade  the  Weisers  sit  side  by 
side  on  a  cushioned  bench  before  her  while 
she  continued  her  conversation  with  the  new- 
comer whom  she  called  Hunter.  Then  she 
bade  John  Conrad  tell  again  the  story  of  his 
misfortunes  and  she  listened  attentively,  her 
eyes  fastened  upon  him. 

John  Conrad  spoke  eloquently,  though 
brokenly,  once  more,  and  omitted  nothing. 
When  in  the  midst  of  his  account  of  persecu- 
tion and  misery,  one  of  the  fine  gentlemen 
would  have  stopped  him,  the  Queen  bade  the 
story  go  on. 

11  It  is  good  for  us  to  hear  these  things.  And 
your  wife,  —  you  say  nothing  of  her." 

Nor  did  John  Conrad  say  anything.  He 
tried,  stammered,  halted,  tried  again,  and 
failed  once  more.  In  a  second  one  of  the 
fine  gentlemen,  Lord  Marlborough,  began  to 
speak  in  his  easy  way.  The  Queen's  face  was 
white,  her  lips  twitched,  and  she  smoothed 
nervously  the  black  stuff  of  which  her  dress 
was  made.     Lord   Marlborough    talked    on 


A   ROYAL   AUDIENCE  71 

and  on  until  the  Queen  herself  interrupted 
him. 

"We  have  heard  this  sad  tale  before,  but 
never  so  well  told.  It  is  our  intention  to  do  all 
for  these  poor  Germans  that  we  can.  In  our 
colony  of  New  York  we  have  already  settled 
the  first  of  those  who  have  come  to  us.  There 
they  dwell  in  happiness  along  the  banks  of 
Hudson's  River  and  have  made  for  themselves 
comfortable  villages.  It  is  our  intention  to 
establish  others  there  in  a  similar  way. 

"  In  return  we  ask  certain  labors.  Our  ene- 
mies are  many.  It  is  necessary  that  we  main- 
tain for  ourselves  a  large  fleet  upon  the  sea. 
Tar  and  pitch  we  must  buy  in  great  quanti- 
ties from  Sweden  and  Russia  —  an  enormous 
and  unnecessary  expense.  In  our  colony  of 
New  York,  so  says  its  Governor  Hunter,  are 
thousands  of  acres  of  pine  trees  from  which 
we  could  distill,  if  we  had  the  workmen,  our 
own  supplies.  Do  you  think  the  Germans 
could  make  tar?" 

"What  others  can  do,  we  can  do,"  an- 
swered John  Conrad.  "We  are  not  below  the 
rest  of  the  world  in  intelligence,  though  we  are 


72         THE   LONG  JOURNEY 

in  possessions.  We  have  among  us  men  of 
many  crafts — husbandmen  and  vine-dressers, 
masons  and  bakers  and  carpenters,  herds- 
men and  blacksmiths  and  tanners  and  millers 
and  weavers.  Oh,  dear  lady,  if  we  were  but 
there!" 

"The  grapes  of  the  new  land  are  said  to  be 
finer  than  the  grapes  of  France,"  said  Lord 
Marlborough.  "It  would  not  be  amiss  if  we 
could  draw  from  our  own  stores." 

Governor  Hunter  leaned  forward  eagerly. 

"It  will  be  time  to  think  of  wine  when  Her 
Majesty's  ships  are  well  caulked,"  said  he 
impatiently.  "The  trees  must  be  properly 
barked  two  years  before  they  are  cut  and 
burned.  There  will  be  no  time  for  vine-dress- 
ing. The  project  is  as  sure  of  success  as  the 
rising  of  the  sun.  It  cannot  fail.  Meanwhile, 
there  will  be  work  in  other  crafts  also  as  in 
all  new  settlements.  It  is  understood  that 
the  Germans  have  here  an  opportunity  to 
repay  some  of  the  great  expense  to  which  we 
have  been  put  on  their  account." 

"We  would  not  have  it  otherwise,"  cried 
John  Conrad.    "We  are  not  beggars,  except 


A   ROYAL  AUDIENCE  73 

as  we  beg  for  a  chance  to  earn  our  bread. 
Would  that  we  might  begin  to-day  to  pay  our 
great  debt!" 

The  Queen  smiled. 

"We  must  have  ships,  and  they  are  not 
easy  to  find  in  a  sufficient  number  at  present 
to  transport  this  host.  But  tell  your  friends 
to  hold  themselves  in  readiness." 

Now  Conrad  breathed  a  long  sigh. 

"The  lad  looks  at  me  with  a  question  in 
his  eyes,"  said  the  Queen.  "What  is  it,  boy?  " 

"Will  our  new  home  be  near  these  kind 
Indians?"  asked  Conrad,  trembling. 

"Governor  Hunter,  what  of  this?" 

"There  are  Indians  everywhere  in  plenty," 
said  he. 

Colonel  Schuyler  rose,  and  John  Conrad, 
feeling  himself  dismissed,  rose  also. 

The  Queen  stopped  them  with  a  lifted 
hand. 

"About  these  same  Indians,  good  Weiser. 
Our  possessions  lie  along  the  east  coast  of  this 
great  and  unexplored  country.  To  the  north 
and  to  the  west,  along  the  course  of  a  vast 
river  and  the  shores  of  large  inland  bodies  of 


74         THE   LONG  JOURNEY 

water,  the  French  have  by  guile  got  posses- 
sion of  the  land.  Between  live  tribes  of  sav- 
ages, upon  whose  friendship  depends  enor- 
mous issues.  Give  thought  to  this,  you  and 
your  friends.  These  Indians  who  are  here 
represent  a  great  nation  or  confederation  of 
nations,  skilled  in  the  warfare  of  the  forest. 
It  is  important  that  they  continue  to  be  our 
friends.  I  am  told  that  they  do  not  regard 
lightly  deceit  of  any  sort,  and  that  their  re- 
venge upon  the  treacherous  is  hideous  be- 
yond all  describing.   Now,  fare  you  well." 

Again  John  Conrad  tried  to  speak  his 
gratitude,  but  could  say  no  word.  He  dropped 
to  his  knees  once  more,  then  rose  and  followed 
Colonel  Schuyler  to  the  door.  There  Colonel 
Schuyler  put  a  gold  piece  into  his  hand. 

"For  you  and  Magdalena  and  Margareta 
and  John  Frederick  and  the  others,"  said  he. 
"The  Queen's  bounty." 

By  noon  of  the  next  day,  the  German  set- 
tlement was  ready  to  take  ship.  John  Conrad, 
as  he  carried  his  remarkable  announcement 
from  tent  to  tent  and  from  fire  to  fire,  gave 
warning  that  sailing  might  still  be  delayed, 


A   ROYAL   AUDIENCE  75 

that  the  ships  were  not  yet  in  the  harbor, 
that  only  a  few  hundreds  could  be  carried  on 
each  vessel,  and  that  these  hundreds  would 
be  selected  according  to  a  method  of  which 
they  knew  nothing. 

But  the  Germans  would  not  hear.  They 
packed  their  belongings  once  more  into 
bundles,  and  depression  gave  place  to  good 
cheer,  solemnity  to  hilarity.  Some  let  the 
fires  before  their  tents  go  out  and  all  spent 
their  small  remaining  sums  of  money  for 
provisions  to  take  on  shipboard. 

Alas,  bundles  were  unpacked,  fires  were 
relighted,  and  the  food  purchased  for  the  sea 
eaten  on  land  long  before  the  ships  were  in 
harbor  and  the  Germans  on  board.  Some  of 
the  bundles  were  then  packed  once  more  by 
other  hands.  Before  the  hour  for  sailing  hun- 
dreds of  pilgrims,  among  them  the  disap- 
pointed magistrate  of  Oberdorf,  had  come 
to  the  end  of  their  journey.  The  Blackheath 
camp  had  become  a  camp  of  death. 

In  the  weeks  which  now  followed,  John 
Conrad  was  summoned  twice  to  the  palace, 
not  to  see  the  Queen  or  to  meet  his  Indian 


76         THE   LONG  JOURNEY 

benefactors,  but  to  have  explained  to  him, 
as  the  chief  representative  of  the  Germans, 
their  duties  in  the  new  world.  Once  more  the 
need  of  the  English  navy  for  tar  was  made 
clear  and  the  method  for  extracting  it  from 
the  pine  trees  carefully  explained.  Governor 
Hunter,  who  talked  to  John  Conrad  at 
length,  was  quick  of  speech  and  temper,  a 
man  who  brooked  no  opposition  and  listened 
to  few  questions. 

To  John  Conrad  was  presented  a  contract 
for  his  signature  and  that  of  other  Germans, 
by  which  they  were  to  promise  to  perform 
that  which  the  Queen  required.  With  happy 
hearts  they  promised ;  with  overflowing  grati- 
tude they  heard  that  they  were  to  receive, 
after  their  debt  to  the  Government  was  paid, 
twenty-five  dollars  and  forty  acres  of  land. 

Finally,  as  Christmas  Day  drew  near,  good 
news  came  to  Blackheath.  Ships  would  be 
provided  for  all,  the  first  sailing  on  Christ- 
mas Day.  Assigned  to  the  first  ship  were  the 
Weisers  and  Conrad's  friend  Peter  Zenger 
and  his  father.  The  rabble  of  London  gath- 
ered at  the  camp  to  see  the  Germans  start, 


A   ROYAL  AUDIENCE  77 

but  now  their  taunts  fell  on  deaf  ears.  The 
new  country  was  just  across  the  sea;  peace 
and  plenty  were  at  hand.  They  thought  with 
sad  regret  of  those  who  had  started  with 
them,  but  who  were  no  longer  here  to  con- 
tinue the  journey. 

Though  it  was  winter,  the  Germans  thought 
little  of  the  storms  which  they  would  meet 
at  sea.  They  were  landsmen  who  knew  noth- 
ing of  the  fierce  power  of  the  ocean.  If  they 
remembered  the  roughness  of  the  Channel 
crossing,  it  was  with  the  consoling  reflection 
that  the  ocean  was  there  confined  to  narrow 
bounds,  like  the  Rhine  where  its  rapids  were 
so  swift.  It  was  true  that  Conrad's  little  book 
advised  various  precautions  against  illness 
and  misery.  But  they  refused  to  think  of  ill- 
ness or  misery.  With  their  long  journey  so 
nearly  ended,  they  could  endure  both. 

Conrad  brought  out  from  its  hiding-place 
George  Reimer's  flute  and  discovered  to  his 
delight  that  Peter  Zenger  had  a  drum.  Per- 
haps there  would  be  other  instruments  upon 
the  ship  and  a  band  could  be  formed. 

To  the  eyes  of  Conrad  and  Peter  the  ship 


78         THE   LONG  JOURNEY 

Lyon  looked  enormous  as  it  lay  in  the  harbor, 
its  mighty  sails  furled.  From  its  sides  there 
projected  four  cannon,  regarded  by  the  two 
boys  with  terror  and  delight.  A  sailor  stand- 
ing on  the  quay  explained  that  they  were  to 
deal  with  the  French  and  with  pirates. 

"Pirates!"  repeated  Conrad.  "What  are 
they?" 

"They  are  freebooters,"  explained  Peter. 
11 1  have  heard  of  them.  They  attack  any  one 
whom  they  please  and  kill  and  rob." 

"Are  we  sure  to  meet  them?"  asked  Con- 
rad. 

"They  come  out  from  the  shore  like 
wolves,"  answered  the  sailor.  "But  with 
these  cross  dogs  we  can  scare  them  off." 

But  whether  there  were  pirates  or  not, 
whether  there  were  storms  to  meet,  or 
whether  they  were  to  sail  in  a  continued  calm, 
the  Germans  must  now  get  aboard.  On  Christ- 
mas morning  the  first  four  hundred  embarked 
upon  the  ship  Lyon  for  another  stage  of  the 
long  journey. 


ACROSS   THE   SEA 

SO  welcome  had  been  the  sight  of  the  ship, 
so  blessed  the  prospect  of  being  able  to 
set  out  once  more,  that  the  Weisers  and 
their  friends  had  no  fault  to  find  with  the 
meager  provision  which  had  been  made  for 
them.  They  trooped  joyfully  aboard,  dispos- 
ing themselves  and  their  goods  as  well  as 
they  could.  It  was  true  that  what  seemed  to 
be  a  large  space  shrank  amazingly  as  the  pas- 
sengers found  places  for  the  bundles  and 
boxes  which  remained  in  their  possession  in 
spite  of  all  their  misfortunes,  but  of  lack  of 
space  they  made  light.  Thus  crowded  to- 
gether they  would  not  suffer  so  dreadfully 
from  the  cold  as  they  had  in  the  open  tents 
of  Blackheath.  Besides,  the  journey  would 
soon  be  over.  Those  who  had  misgivings  as 
the  shores  of  England  dropped  out  of  sight, 
smiled  to  see  Conrad  and  Peter  gazing  long- 
ingly from  the  boat's  prow  toward  the  west. 


80         THE   LONG   JOURNEY 

In  comparison  with  the  journey  down  the 
Rhine  the  journey  across  the  Atlantic  is  dull 
to  most  travelers.  There  are  no  interesting 
waitings  at  landings,  there  are  no  towering 
castles,  there  are  no  flowery  meadows.  But 
to  the  children  on  the  ship  Lyon  there  was 
no  moment  without  its  entertainment.  There 
was,  to  begin  with,  the  never-ending  motion 
of  the  sea;  there  was,  for  the  first  few  days, 
the  almost  hourly  sight  of  a  distant  sail. 
Presently  they  began  to  watch  for  the  spout- 
ing of  whales  and  for  the  dipping  and  soaring 
of  creatures  which  were  half  bird,  half  fish. 

The  voyage  began  in  a  long  and  unusual 
calm,  so  that  the  older  folk  could  sit  comfort- 
ably on  the  deck  in  the  sunshine  and  the  chil- 
dren could  scamper  about  at  their  games. 
The  captain  and  the  crew  were  kind  and  pa- 
tient, as  they  needed  to  be  to  answer  the 
numberless  questions  about  the  ship  and  her 
rudder  and  her  white  sails  and  the  wide  sea 
upon  which  she  traveled.  The  mate  had 
crossed  the  Atlantic  Ocean  four  times  and 
had  been  many  times  to  Marseilles:  to  the 
shivering  girls  and  the  delighted  boys  he  told 


ACROSS  THE   SEA  81 

a  hundred  tales  of  storms,  of  waves  covering 
the  ship,  of  rigging  locked  in  ice,  of  flights 
from  pirates  and  of  battles  with  the  French. 

"Shall  we  meet  storms  like  that?"  they 
asked,  terrified,  yet  eager. 

"  I  Ve  crossed  when  the  sea  was  like  a  rag- 
ing lion,"  answered  the  mate,  to  please  the 
boys ; ' '  and  when  she  was  like  a  smooth  pond , ' ' 
he  added,  to  please  the  girls. 

Presently  the  mate  rigged  up  a  fishing-line 
with  which  the  boys  took  turns.  Peter  Zenger 
added  an  edible  dolphin  to  the  ship's  food  — 
that  was  the  first  catch.  Then,  Conrad,  feeling 
a  powerful  tug  at  his  line,  was  convinced  that 
he  had  caught  a  whale,  and  screamed  for  help. 

"It  will  pull  me  over,"  he  called.  "Come 
quickly!" 

The  sailor  who  came  to  his  aid  laughed. 

"You  could  have  let  go!" 

When  they  hauled  in  the  catch  it  proved  to 
be  a  shark,  at  whose  enormous  mouth  and 
hideous  teeth  the  girls  screamed.  Thereafter 
they  scarcely  looked  over  the  side  of  the  ship. 

Among  themselves  the  older  folk  reviewed 
again    and    again    their    persecutions,    their 


82  THE   LONG  JOURNEY 

griefs,  and  their  hopes.  To  the  younger  men 
and  women  John  Conrad  talked  long  and 
earnestly. 

"If  all  that  we  hear  is  true,  children,  this 
new  land  will  be  the  finest  land  in  the  world. 
There  are  fertile  fields ;  there  are  great  forests 
and  rivers,  such  as  we  know  nothing  of;  there 
are  rich  ores.  Above  all,  there  are  young, 
eager  hearts.  I  believe  that  there  will  also  be 
new  governments,  which  will,  please  God,  be 
different  from  the  old.  In  this  new  country 
every  man  should  have  a  fair  chance.  I  am 
growing  old,  I  shall  not  have  much  to  do  with 
the  affairs  of  the  new  country,  but  my  chil- 
dren may.  Let  them  remember  their  own 
history  and  be  always  on  the  side  of  the  op- 
pressed. You  may  be  divided  from  one  an- 
other. Our  new  friends  may  forsake  us.  You 
will  have  griefs  and  sorrows  like  the  rest  of 
mankind.  You  must  learn  to  find  companion- 
ship in  yourselves  and  help  from  above.  You 
must  learn  to  be  independent  of  others,  even 
of  those  who  love  you  and  whom  you  love." 

Daily  Conrad  and  Peter  practiced  on  their 
flute  and  drum.    There  were,  as  they  had 


ACROSS   THE   SEA  83 

hoped,  other  instruments  on  the  ship  and 
a  band  was  organized  which  played  many 
lively  tunes.  Sometimes  the  boys  were  al- 
lowed to  help  with  the  furling  of  a  sail  or -the 
giving  out  of  the  supply  of  food  and  water. 
They  were  shown  by  the  friendly  mate  the 
ship's  store  of  arms  and  ammunition,  a  store 
which  seemed  to  their  inexperienced  eyes 
sufficient  to  meet  a  whole  fleet  of  pirates. 

"If  they  would  but  come!"  sighed  Con- 
rad and  Peter  to  themselves. 

Presently  John  Conrad's  watchful  eyes  saw 
a  new  expression  in  the  eyes  of  his  oldest 
daughter.  She  sat  often  by  herself,  and  when 
she  joined  the  general  company  one  of  the 
young  men,  Baer  by  name,  was  certain  to  put 
himself  as  soon  as  possible  by  her  side.  John 
Conrad  sighed,  scolded  his  son  Conrad  and 
Peter  Zenger  for  their  constant  punning  on 
the  young  man's  name,  and  then  took  his  own 
medicine. 

"They  must  leave  me  one  by  one,"  said  he 
to  himself.  ' '  Magdalena  will  doubtless  soon  be 
showing  the  same  signs.  Thank  God,  they  can 
start  together  in  a  land  of  peace  and  plenty! " 


84         THE   LONG  JOURNEY 

Through  January  all  went  well  with  the 
pilgrims.  Then  Peter  Zenger's  father  suc- 
cumbed to  the  disease  with  which  he  had  been 
afflicted.  The  end  was  sudden  to  no  one  but 
Peter,  who  would  not  be  comforted.  To  him 
John  Conrad  talked  when  the  solemn  burial 
was  completed. 

"You  believe  in  God  and  Heaven,  dear 
child.  Your  father  was  worn  and  weary  and 
he  is  at  rest  until  the  last  day.  You  are  young 
with  life  before  you.  You  have  your  new 
country;  to  it  you  must  devote  yourself,  heart 
and  soul.  The  good  God  closes  all  gates  some- 
times so  that  we  may  see  the  more  plainly  the 
one  through  which  He  means  we  should  go." 

With  the  death  of  Zenger  the  character  of 
the  journey  changed.  As  the  calm  of  the  early 
part  of  January  had  been  extraordinary,  so 
now  were  the  storms.  There  appeared  one 
morning  along  the  western  horizon  a  low 
bank  of  clouds  which  the  children  took  at 
first,  in  wild  enthusiasm,  for  land.  As  the 
clouds  rose  higher  and  higher,  the  color  of 
the  sea  changed  to  a  strange  oily  gray,  and 
suddenly  the  ship  began  to  rock  as  though 


ACROSS   THE   SEA  85 

the  waves  were  rising  like  the  clouds.  Now 
a  great  wind  whistled  in  the  rigging  with  a 
sound  different  from  any  which  the  passen- 
gers had  heard. 

"What  is  it,  father?"  cried  Sabina.  " I  am 
afraid." 

The  Germans  looked  at  one  another  omi- 
nously. 

For  many  days  there  was  no  sitting  about 
the  deck.  No  passenger  was  allowed,  indeed, 
to  leave  the  hold  of  the  ship.  The  vessel, 
which  had  come  to  seem  as  solid  as  the  earth, 
was  tossed  about  like  a  cork.  Again  and 
again  waves  covered  it,  again  and  again  with 
sails  closely  furled  it  fought  for  its  life.  The 
coverings  of  the  hatchways  were  burst  open 
and  the  sea  rushed  in.  Giving  themselves  up 
many  times  for  lost,  the  passengers  tried  to  be 
as  brave  as  they  could.  Those  who  could  keep 
on  their  feet  did  all  that  lay  in  their  power  for 
their  companions,  and  through  the  intolerable 
hours  they  prayed.  When,  once  or  twice  dur- 
ing the  storm,  the  captain  visited  them,  they 
took  courage  from  him. 

"Conrad  shall  still  catch  a  whale,"  said  he 


86  THE   LONG  JOURNEY 

in  a  voice  which  was  cheerful  through  all 
its  weary  hoarseness.  "And  Peter  shall  play 
his  drum,  and  the  young  maidens  shall  smile 
upon  the  young  men." 

Finally  the  long  storm  died  away.  The 
passengers  were  startled  to  realize  that  the 
Lyon  shook  and  quivered  no  longer,  that 
silence  had  succeeded  the  dreadful  creaking 
in  the  timbers  and  the  fearful  whistling  in  the 
rigging,  and  that  as  the  storm  abated  they 
had  each  one  fallen  asleep. 

Now  followed  many  days  of  cold,  bright 
weather.  Again  the  travelers  sought  the  deck 
and  the  sunshine.  Peter  Zenger  was  able  to 
remind  Conrad  one  day,  with  a  weak  little 
smile,  of  the  advice  given  by  the  book  of 
directions. 

11  It  would  have  taken  a  pretty  lively  swing 
to  prepare  us  for  such  a  shaking,"  said  he. 

In  a  day  or  two  Peter  lifted  his  drum  and 
the  band  returned  to  its  practicing.  At 
first  they  played  solemn  tunes;  then,  with 
returning  color  to  their  cheeks,  came  fresh 
cheerfulness  and  courage.  Even  the  older 
folk  joined  cheerfully  in  "Susy,  dear  Susy." 


ACROSS  THE  SEA  87 

The  sailors  mended  the  sails,  the  girls  took 
out  their  knitting,  and  the  children  played 
about  on  the  deck. 

But  the  whole-hearted  gayety  of  the  early 
journey  did  not  return.  The  great  storm  had 
taken  fearful  toll,  and  there  were  already 
twenty  passengers  less  than  there  had  been 
at  the  beginning.  The  crowding  of  the  ship 
had  become  a  serious  menace  to  health.  There 
were  a  few  sick  persons  at  whom  the  captain 
looked  more  anxiously  than  he  had  looked  at 
the  angry  clouds  or  the  tempestuous  sea. 
Not  the  least  of  the  dangers  of  the  long  jour- 
ney were  various  diseases,  contagious  and 
deadly,  which,  once  started,  could  scarcely 
be  checked. 

Now  another  terrible  peril  threatened  the 
ship  Lyon.  The  supply  of  food  brought  by 
the  passengers  was  entirely  exhausted,  and 
that  furnished  by  the  ship  was  small  in  quan- 
tity and  hardly  edible.  The  drinking-water 
had  become  foul,  and  through  a  leak  in  one 
of  the  wooden  casks  a  large  quantity  had  been 
lost.  Passengers  and  crew  watched  the  sky 
for  a  cloud. 


88         THE  LONG  JOURNEY 

When  at  last  the  cloud  appeared,  it  was 
accompanied  again  by  the  terrible  wind  and 
the  heaving  sea  of  the  great  storm.  Again  the 
passengers  spent  a  week  in  the  hold  while 
the  ship  battled  with  a  tempest  which  broke 
the  rudder.  Their  respect  for  the  captain  and 
the  stanch  vessel  which  carried  them  grew  to 
admiration  and  then  to  awe. 

"It  is  no  wonder  they  call  the  ship  'she,'" 
said  Conrad  feebly.  "One  would  think  it  was 
alive.  It  is  well  named  'Lyon/  for  it  fights 
for  us  like  a  lion." 

Again  the  passengers  returned  to  the  deck, 
more  weak  and  miserable  than  before.  The 
supply  of  water  gathered  in  the  storm  sank 
lower  and  lower  in  the  cask,  the  rations  of 
salt  pork  and  sea  biscuit  became  daily 
smaller.  Finally  a  day  dawned  when  the 
supply  of  water  was  gone  and  the  supply  of 
food  so  low  that  starvation  and  death  were 
imminent.  John  Conrad  went  about  from 
group  to  group  telling  of  the  glories  of  the 
heavenly  country  to  which  their  passage 
seemed  now  but  the  matter  of  a  short 
time. 


ACROSS  THE   SEA  89 

Then  came  help.  A  faint  speck  appeared 
upon  the  horizon.  The  children,  when  they 
saw  it,  flew  to  the  captain,  who,  they  discov- 
ered, had  been  watching  it  for  an  hour.  It 
grew  larger  and  larger,  not  into  the  shape 
of  a  rain  cloud,  but  into  the  shape  of  a  ves- 
sel. Young  Conrad  guessed  the  nature  of  the 
hope  in  the  captain's  eager  eyes. 

"  Might  they  have  food  and  water  for  us?  " 

The  captain  shook  his  head. 

"We  cannot  tell.  They  may  be  as  badly 
off  as  we  are." 

The  ship  came  closer  and  closer,  flying, 
they  saw  joyfully,  the  pennant  of  England. 
The  passengers  grew  silent  and  eyes  burned 
and  hearts  almost  ceased  to  beat.  Presently 
they  were  able  to  hear  a  shout  across  the 
smooth  sea.  It  was  surely  a  friendly  hail, 
and  still  the  ship  came  nearer  and  nearer. 
Then  the  travelers  heard,  almost  unbelieving, 
the  blessed  words :  — 

"We  have  potatoes  and  ground  beans  and 
dried  venison  from  Her  Majesty's  colony. 
Do  you  wish  to  buy?  " 

"  Yes,"  shouted  the  captain : "  all  you  have." 


go         THE   LONG  JOURNEY 

"  We  have  water,  also.  Do  you  need  any?  " 

To  this  replied  a  hurrah  from  every  throat 
on  the  ship  Lyon. 

" Thank  God!  Thank  God!"  cried  the  poor 
Germans. 

In  a  short  time  the  water  casks  were  aboard 
and  with  them  bags  of  vegetables  and  meat. 
For  several  hours  the  ship  stood  near  and  the 
sailors  coming  aboard  the  Lyon  showed  the 
Germans  how  to  roast  the  potatoes  in  an 
open  fire  on  the  deck.  Never  had  food  tasted 
so  good  and  water  so  delicious.  It  was  a 
happy  promise  from  the  new  country. 

But  the  ship  which  brought  this  welcome 
freight  brought  also  bad  news.  The  free- 
booters along  the  coast  were  unusually  active. 
The  captain  of  the  Lyon  must  look  well  to  his 
guns.  Everywhere  in  the  ports  of  the  new 
country  one  heard  of  ships  boarded,  of  treas- 
ure taken,  and  of  crew  and  passengers  mur- 
dered. The  more  closely  the  vessel  approached 
the  shores  of  America,  the  greater  was  the 
danger. 

The  Germans  looked  at  one  another  with 
despair. 


ACROSS  THE   SEA  91 

"We  have  suffered  as  much  as  we  can 
bear!"  cried  some  one. 

"We  have  no  treasures,"  said  John  Con- 
rad to  the  captain.  "Why  should  any  one 
molest  people  so  poor  as  we  are?" 

"My  ship  would  be  a  treasure  for  them," 
answered  the  captain.  "For  that  they  would 
murder  every7  soul  on  board." 

Daily  the  passengers  were  assembled  and 
drilled.  The  crew  was  only  sufficient  to  sail 
the  ship ;  for  its  defense  the  passengers  would 
have  to  be  depended  upon.  They  were  in- 
structed in  the  firing  of  the  cannon  and  in- 
formed about  the  methods  of  pirates  in  at- 
tacking a  vessel. 

"I  have  stood  them  off  before,"  said  the 
captain,  uneasily,  to  John  Conrad.  "But  I 
have  always  had  more  powder  than  I  have 
now  and  a  few  trained  gunners.  If  they  are 
once  aboard,  we  shall  have  to  fight  like  tigers 
for  our  lives.   They  give  no  quarter." 

Now  sabers  and  pistols  were  laid  ready  so 
that  there  might  be  no  confusion  when  the 
pirate  ship  was  sighted.  The  women  and  chil- 
dren eyed  the  weapons  fearfully;  the  men 


92         THE  LONG  JOURNEY 

tried  to  laugh  at  their  alarm.  No  one  but  the 
very  youngest  of  the  children  slept  the  night 
through. 

But  no  pirate  ship  appeared.  The  air  grew 
softer  and  warmer;  all  began  to  breathe  more 
freely  and  to  look  ahead,  not  for  the  ship 
of  the  dread  enemy,  but  for  the  land.  Eyes 
of  passengers  and  crew  were  weary  of  the 
sea. 

"They  are  afraid  of  our  cross  dogs/'  said 
Conrad,  half  wishing,  as  the  danger  faded,  for 
a  battle. 

"  Perhaps  some  brave  captain  has  swept 
them  from  the  sea,"  said  Peter.  "That  would 
be  a  work  I  should  like.  I  should  board  their 
ships  as  they  have  boarded  others  and  then  I 
should  give  no  quarter." 

At  last,  after  the  captain  had  declared  the 
danger  past,  and  had  jokingly  bidden  the  boys 
keep  constant  eyes  upon  the  west  for  the 
promised  land,  the  sailor  on  watch  gave  a 
loud  cry :  — 

"Ship,  ahoy!" 

At  once  the  passengers  crowded  to  the 
prow  of  the  boat.  The  approaching  ship  was 


ACROSS   THE   SEA  93 

a  tiny  speck,  visible  only  to  the  sharpest  eyes. 
For  a  long  time  it  seemed  to  remain  sta- 
tionary; then  they  realized  that  it  was  stead- 
ily approaching.  Children  began  to  cry  and 
mothers  to  hold  them  closer  and  closer. 

"It  is  coming  very  fast,  is  it  not?"  said 
Conrad  to  the  captain. 

"Pretty  fast." 

"It  is  not  necessarily  a  pirate  ship,"  said 
John  Conrad.  "It  may  be  a  friendly 
ship." 

"  I  believe  it  brings  us  good  water  and  more 
food,"  said  Sabina. 

"I  am  sure  that  I  can  see  the  English 
flag,"  said  George  Frederick. 

But  the  passengers  were  not  allowed  to 
linger  long  at  the  prow  speculating  about  the 
strange  vessel.  Suddenly  hopes  were  dashed 
and  all  speculations  and  prophecies  inter- 
rupted by  a  sharp  order  from  the  captain. 
Women  and  children  were  to  go  below  and 
each  man  was  to  take  his  place  at  once  at  the 
post  assigned  him.  The  ammunition  —  a 
perilously  small  store  —  was  divided.  Con- 
rad and  Peter  Zenger  were  the  youngest  pas- 


94         THE   LONG  JOURNEY 

sengers  who  were  allowed  to  stay  on  deck. 
They  had  been  included  in  the  drills,  but  for 
them  there  was  now  neither  gun  nor  powder. 
They  were  given  orders  to  keep  out  of  the  way 
of  the  crew  and  the  older  men.  If  any  of  the 
defenders  fell,  they  might  take  their  places. 
The  two  boys  crouched  down  close  to  the 
mast,  not  venturing  to  go  below  to  put  away 
the  drum  and  flute  upon  which  they  had  been 
playing  when  the  alarm  was  given. 

Nearer  and  nearer  came  the  strange  ship. 
It  was  not  so  large  as  the  Lyon,  and  it  re- 
sponded far  more  quickly  to  its  helm.  In  the 
quickening  breeze  from  the  west  it  advanced 
with  great  speed.  It  floated  no  pennant — 
the  wish  of  the  Germans  had  been  father  to 
the  thought. 

Now  a  sailor  in  the  masthead  of  the  Lyon 
sent  out  a  friendly  hail.  There  was  no  an- 
swer. Again  the  sailor  shouted.  Still  there 
was  no  reply.  The  crew  of  the  Lyon  could 
see  now  plainly  armed  men  upon  the  deck  of 
the  stranger.  The  captain  spoke  in  a  whisper 
to  the  mate. 

"We  have  powder  for  two  rounds.    Not 


ACROSS  THE   SEA  95 

enough  to  keep  them  off  for  five  minutes. 
We—" 

The  stranger  seemed  actually  to  leap 
ahead,  and  the  captain's  eyes  flashed.  He 
raised  his  hands  before  his  mouth  like  a 
trumpet. 

"Fire!" 

The  two  cannon  which  pointed  toward  the 
strange  ship  spit  out  a  long  streak  of  flame, 
and  the  Lyon  trembled  with  a  terrific  de- 
tonation. 

When  the-  smoke  cleared  away,  it  was 
plainly  to  be  seen  that  the  pirates  were  not 
frightened  by  the  warning  shots.  The  balls 
had  fallen  short,  and  the  pirate  ship  sailed 
on,  as  though  to  take  quick  advantage  of  the 
time  required  to  reload  the  cannon.  It  was 
now  so  near  that  the  evil  faces  could  be 
clearly  discerned  upon  its  deck. 


VI 
THE   PIRATE  SHIP 

IT  was  small  wonder  that  the  passengers  on 
the  Lyon  were  almost  paralyzed  with  ter- 
ror. They  were  not  soldiers,  nor  accustomed 
to  taking  the  part  of  soldiers,  and  they  were 
not  fighting  upon  a  battlefield,  distant  from 
their  loved  ones,  but  close  to  them  where  the 
danger  threatened  alike  themselves  and  all 
they  held  dear.  The  fact  made  them  at  once 
more  courageous  and  more  terrified. 

It  was  known  by  all  that  powder  was  short 
and  that  the  accuracy  of  the  next  shot  would 
probably  decide  their  fate.  Their  hands  grew 
more  and  more  awkward,  their  cheeks  whiter. 
Conrad  and  Peter  sprang  to  their  feet,  seeing 
plainly  the  panic  on  the  faces  of  the  gunners 
who  were  trying  to  reload  the  cannon,  and 
upon  the  faces  of  the  others  who  stood,  saber 
or  pistol  in  hand,  waiting  for  what  seemed  to 
be  certain  destruction.  One  frightened  soul 
fired  his  pistol  prematurely,  another  waved 


THE   PIRATE   SHIP  97 

his  saber  wildly  in  the  air.  If  the  freeboot- 
ers saw,  they  must  have  anticipated  an  easy 
victory. 

"If  we  only  had  pistols!''  cried  Peter 
shrilly. 

The  captain  shouted  fierce  orders,  and  still 
the  gunners  fumbled  at  their  task. 

Now  Conrad  ran  to  the  captain's  side.  A 
wild  plan  had  suddenly  occurred  to  him. 

"We  could  play,"  cried  he  breathlessly, 
"Peter  and  I.  There  was  a  trumpeter  on  a 
castle  wall  who  played  and  played  till  — " 

"Play,  then!" 
/With  trembling  lips  and  hands  the  two 
boys  began.  The  flute  gave  forth  a  sharp 
piping,  the  drum  tried  to  roar  as  fiercely  as 
the  cannon.  There  was  at  first  no  tune,  there 
was  at  first,  indeed,  only  a  mad  discord.  And 
still  the  pirate  ship  came  on. 

1 '  Louder !  Louder !  Louder ! ' '  The  boys  did 
not  know  whether  they  had  heard  or  had 
imagined  the  command.  They  were  playing 
"Susy,  dear  Susy,"  and  playing  it  like  a  jig. 
As  though  its  sprightliness  steadied  them, 
arms  grew  stronger,  breath  more  even.   The 


98         THE  LONG  JOURNEY 

gunners  heard,  the  infantry  heard,  the  wo- 
men and  children  shivering  in  the  hold  heard, 
and  best  of  all  the  evil  men  on  the  pirate 
ship  heard.  The  hands  of  the  gunners  trem- 
bled a  little  less,  the  hands  which  held  the 
pistols  and  sabers  grasped  them  more  firmly, 
the  women  and  children  looked  with  a  tiny 
bit  of  hope  into  one  another's  eyes,  and  the 
pirates  looked  at  one  another  with  astonish- 
ment. 

It  may  have  been  that  the  captain  of  the 
pirate  ship  did  not  care  to  try  conclusions 
with  a  force  which  could  spare  men  to  play 
the  drum  and  flute;  it  may  have  been  that  he 
could  observe  that  the  firing  of  the  second 
shot  was  the  matter  of  only  a  second  or  two ; 
or  it  may  have  been  that  merely  the  lively 
defiance  of  "Susy,  dear  Susy,"  discouraged 
him.  At  any  rate,  he  altered  the  course  of  his 
vessel.  When  the  second  shot  sailed  after 
him,  he  had  darted  out  of  range. 

At  first  the  passengers  of  the  Lyon  stared 
as  though  a  spell  had  been  put  upon  them. 
A  moment  ago  they  had  been  in  danger  of 
their  lives;  now  they  were  safe  while  the  en- 


THE   PIRATE   SHIP  99 

emy  sailed  away.  Some  laughed  aloud,  others 
wiped  their  eyes,  and  a  sailor  flung  open  the 
hatchway  and  shouted  the  good  news  to  the 
anxious  hearts  below. 

Though  the  distance  between  the  Lyon 
and  her  enemy  grew  wider  and  wider  until 
presently  the  stranger  had  vanished  over  the 
horizon's  edge,  the  sailors  kept  watch  until 
nightfall. 

But  the  passengers  gave  no  thought  now  to 
an  enemy.  They  saw,  late  in  the  afternoon, 
a  sailor  lowering  the  sounding-line  over  the 
ship's  side.  They  had  watched  this  process 
many  times.  But  the  earnestness  of  the  sailor 
and  the  eager  watching  of  his  companions 
gave  it  a  new  significance.  Into  the  group  at 
the  ship's  edge  young  Conrad  forced  his  way. 

"How  much?"  said  he. 

The  sailors  paid  no  attention  and  Conrad 
concluded  to  wait.  Presently  the  line  was 
drawn  in  and  the  sailor  announced  to  the 
captain  in  a  loud  voice,  — 

"Thirty-five  fathoms,  sir." 

"That  is  shallow,"  said  Conrad.  "  Is  there 
any  danger?" 


ioo       THE  LONG  JOURNEY 

The  sailors  laughed. 

"  There  is  danger  of  seeing  land  to-mor- 
row/ '  said  one. 

To  this  no  one  made  any  reply  for  a  long 
moment.  Then  another  shout  arose  like  the 
one  which  had  greeted  the  arrival  of  wa- 
ter and  food.  In  one  moment  the  news 
had  spread:  in  another,  though  the  captain 
laughed,  the  women  were  descending  to  pack 
boxes  and  to  tie  up  the  bundles  in  the  hold. 

But  no  one  stayed  long  below  the  deck. 
Margareta  and  Magdalena  with  one  bundle 
packed  climbed  back  to  look  toward  the  west. 
John  Conrad's  expectation  was  being  realized; 
there  was  now  a  young  man  by  the  side  of 
Magdalena  also.  The  captain  laughed  at 
them  for  watching  for  land  as  he  laughed  at 
them  for  packing. 

14  To-morrow,  my  children,  not  to-day. 
You  may  look  your  eyes  out  to-day  and  you 
will  see  nothing,  and  there  will  be  plenty  of 
time  after  we  see  land  for  you  to  pack  your 
clothes." 

Nevertheless,  the  Germans  looked  and 
looked,  though,  as  the  captain  prophesied, 


THE   PIRATE   SHIP  101 

they  saw  nothing.  But  they  would  not  leave 
their  place  in  the  bow.  Sitting  together,  they 
reviewed  the  journey  and  the  more  distant 
past.  They  spoke  of  the  Fatherland,  of  those 
left  behind  who  might  some  day  follow  them, 
like  George  Reimer,  of  those,  like  the  magis- 
trate of  Oberdorf,  whom  they  should  never 
see  again,  and  of  those  already  on  the  way  in 
other  ships.  They  spoke  also  in  quiet  voices 
of  those  who  slept,  like  the  mother  of  the 
Weisers,  in  quiet  graveyards.  They  spoke  of 
bondage  and  liberty  and  of  war  and  peace  and 
of  a  strange  new  freedom,  of  which  there  was 
in  the  hearts  of  a  few  a  dim  conception,  like 
the  tiny  seed  of  a  mighty  tree.  They  spoke 
with  gratitude  of  the  good  Queen  and  offered 
a  prayer  for  her,  and  for  other  friends,  like 
the  good  helmsman  on  the  river  boat.  They 
spoke  of  the  strange  red  people,  and  Conrad 
must  find  his  little  book  and  read  once  more 
of  their  skill  as  hunters,  of  their  devotion  in 
friendship  and  of  their  ferocity  in  war  and  in 
revenge.  Longest  of  all  they  talked  of  the 
King  of  Rivers  and  his  companions. 

"It  is  my  object  to  find  them  first  of  all," 


102       THE   LONG  JOURNEY 

said  Conrad.  "I  am  sure  they  are  looking 
for  us  to  come  to  the  country  which  they  gave 
us." 

Once  again  must  Conrad  and  Peter  and  the 
rest  of  the  band  play  their  old  tunes,  grave 
and  gay,  mournful  and  lively;  once  again 
must  all  join  in  song.  Twilight  came  and  then 
the  starry,  summer  night,  and  still  the  pil- 
grims sat  gazing  toward  the  west.  All  night  a 
few  kept  vigil. 

At  daylight  every  one  was  on  deck.  The 
morning  dawned  in  splendor,  but  no  one 
turned  to  watch  the  rising  sun.  At  last,  when 
the  bright  rays  illuminated  the  whole  of  earth 
and  heaven,  they  saw  through  tears  the  low 
shores  of  the  promised  land. 

But  now  that  land  was  in  sight,  the  Lyon 
was  not  able  to  get  into  the  harbor.  Already 
as  the  passengers  watched  the  shore  a  storm 
was  rising.  It  was  not  so  severe  as  those 
which  had  gone  before  nor  so  long  continued, 
but  it  was  far  more  alarming  since  the  ship 
was  now  in  danger  of  being  cast  upon  the 
reefs.  It  seemed  for  many  days  that  the  pas- 
sengers had  endured  all  for  naught.    It  was 


THE   PIRATE   SHIP  103 

like  being  sent  back  into  mid-ocean  to  suffer 
once  more  all  the  fearful  trials  through  which 
they  had  lived.  Again  the  captain  grew  wan 
and  hollow-eyed,  again  the  travelers  lived  for 
days  in  the  hold  of  the  ship,  again  there  was 
sickness  and  death.  Some  of  those  who  had 
seen  the  promised  land  saw  it  no  more,  nor 
any  earthly  land.  There  was  no  concealing 
the  fact  that  those  who  were  ill  had  ship 
fever,  which  was  almost  certain,  in  the  con- 
ditions in  which  the  patients  had  to  live,  to 
be  fatal.  Little  John  Frederick,  the  young- 
est of  the  Weisers,  about  whose  health  they 
had  long  felt  anxiety,  grew  worse,  so  that  his 
brothers  and  sisters  could  not  look  at  him 
without  tears.  Still  the  pilgrims  were  patient 
and  kind,  still  they  tried  not  to  murmur  at 
this  new  dispensation  of  Providence. 

"Courage!"  said  John  Conrad  a  dozen 
times  a  day,  to  himself,  as  well  as  to  his  com- 
panions. "  Many  a  good  enterprise  has  failed 
because  those  who  undertook  it  could  not 
endure  quite  to  the  end." 

The  pilgrims  were  to  have,  alas,  need  for  all 
the  courage  and  patience  which  they  could 


104       THE  LONG  JOURNEY 

summon.  When  a  long  swell  succeeded  the 
fierce  beating  of  the  waves  and  the  skies 
cleared,  they  sought  the  deck  once  more,  and 
hurried  to  the  prow.  There  they  stared  at  one 
another  in  amazement  and  terror.  The  prom- 
ised land  at  which  they  had  looked  with  such 
longing  eyes  had  vanished. 

"What  has  become  of  it? " asked  a  be- 
wildered company. 

"  It  is  still  exactly  where  it  was,"  answered 
the  captain.  "  It  is  we  who  have  changed  our 
place." 

"When  shall  we  see  it  again?" 

The  captain  reassured  them  with  a  cheer- 
fulness which  he  did  not  feel.  The  ship  had 
been  driven  far  out  of  its  course;  it  would 
take  many  days  to  win  again  a  view  of  the 
low-lying  shores. 

It  was  now  June.  Unless  conditions  in  the 
new  world  were  very  different  from  those  in 
the  old,  the  season  for  planting  was  almost 
passed:  and  John  Conrad's  eagerness  to  be 
settled  grew  to  anxiety.  Whatever  young 
Conrad's  book  might  say  about  the  strength 
of  the  sun  in  America,  it  was  certain  that  the 


THE   PIRATE   SHIP  105 

pilgrims  must  have  a  house  and  some  stores 
of  food  and  fuel  with  which  to  meet  the  win- 
ter. Again  they  gazed  toward  the  west  until, 
between  the  blinding  glare  of  the  sun  on  the 
smooth  sea  and  their  own  tears,  they  could 
see  no  more. 

But  like  all  evils  in  the  world  the  long  jour- 
ney came  to  an  end.  The  travelers  had  given 
up  rising  before  dawn  to  watch  the  first  beams 
of  the  sun  strike  on  the  western  shores,  when 
one  bright  morning  a  shout  awoke  them. 

1 '  Land !  Land !  Land ! ' '  Though  it  needed 
but  one  call  to  rouse  the  sleepers,  the  sailor 
called  a  dozen  times,  as  though  the  joyful 
news  could  not  be  too  often  proclaimed. 

The  travelers  crowded  on  deck;  they  saw 
the  shore  much  nearer  at  hand  than  it  had 
been  before,  and  green  instead  of  a  dull,  in- 
determinate color;  they  were  surrounded  by 
fluttering  birds;  they  sniffed  upon  the  air 
a  different  odor,  an  odor  of  land  and  grow- 
ing things.  Then  with  one  accord  their  eyes 
sought  the  sky  to  see  if  once  more  a  cloud 
threatened  them. 

But  there  was  no  cloud  even  so  large  as  a 


106       THE  LONG  JOURNEY 

man's  hand,  and  the  dangerous  reefs  were 
passed  safely. 

"But  we  are  not  moving!"  cried  young 
Conrad.    "What  is  the  matter?" 

The  captain  pointed  ahead,  and  Conrad 
saw  a  long  rowboat  cutting  the  water. 

"We  can't  go  into  the  harbor  without  a 
pilot,"  said  the  captain.    "Here  he  comes." 

Indifferent  to  the  fact  that  their  belongings 
were,  after  all  their  planning,  not  ready  to  be 
carried  to  the  shore,  the  passengers  hung  over 
the  side  of  the  ship.  There  was  a  loud  hail 
from  the  little  boat,  and  an  answering  shout 
from  the  captain  of  the  Lyon. 

Suddenly  Conrad  cried  out  and  seized  his 
father  by  the  arm. 

"Look!   Look!" 

"What  is  it,  lad?" 

Then  John  Conrad  saw  for  himself.  The 
rowers  were  dark-skinned,  black-haired  crea- 
tures whose  great  bare  bodies  gleamed  in  the 
sun.  The  King  of  Rivers  and  his  friends  had 
been  blanketed,  but  there  was  no  mistaking 
these  for  any  but  men  of  their  race. 

"They  are  Indians,"  said  Conrad,  in  awe. 


THE   PIRATE   SHIP  107 

Now  a  rope  ladder  was  flung  over  the  side 
of  the  ship  and  the  pilot  came  aboard.  He 
shook  hands  with  the  captain  and  the  mate, 
and  then  lifted  from  the  hands  of  an  Indian 
who  had  followed  him  a  roughly  woven  bas- 
ket. 

"I  always  bring  something  for  the  birds,' ' 
said  he  in  a  loud  voice  as  he  uncovered  it. 

For  a  moment  both  children  and  adults 
could  only  stare  at  him  dumbly.  He  was 
real,  he  came  from  America,  and  America  had 
begun  to  seem  like  the  figment  of  a  dream: 
his  was  a  new  face,  and  they  had  seen  no  new 
faces  for  months. 

But  when  the  children  looked  into  his  bas- 
ket, they  ran  forward.  Here  were  cherries 
for  mouths  which  had  forgotten  the  taste  of 
fruit;  here  were  strawberries  for  lips  which 
had  never  touched  strawberries.  An  old  wo- 
man began  to  weep. 

"  Cherries  like  those  in  the  gardens  of 
Wurttemberg,  God  be  thanked !" 

John  Conrad  looked  at  the  pilot  a  little 
uneasily. 

"We  cannot  pay,"  said  he. 


io8       THE   LONG  JOURNEY 

The  pilot  popped  a  strawberry  into  the 
mouth  of  John  Frederick. 

"Tut,  tut,"  said  he,  "you  are  in  a  land  of 
plenty.  To-morrow  when  I  come  to  take  you 
in  I  will  bring  more." 

"To-morrow!"  echoed  a  dozen  voices. 
"Oh,  sir,  can  we  not  go  in  to-day?" 

The  pilot  shook  his  head. 

"Not  till  to-morrow." 

"But  the  storm  came  before  and  drove  us 
far  away." 

"No  storm  will  drive  you  away  now." 

With  sinking  hearts  the  pilgrims  saw  the 
pilot  descend  again  over  the  side  of  the  ship 
and  enter  his  boat  and  row  away. 

"I  do  not  believe  he  will  return,"  said  one 
despairing  soul. 

But  in  a  few  minutes  the  speaker  and  every 
one  else  on  board  had  begun  to  pack.  Pots 
and  dishes,  pans  and  kettles,  clothes,  a  few 
spinning-wheels,  the  few  treasured  books  — 
all  were  boxed  or  wrapped  or  corded  together. 
The  Weisers,  remembering  gayly  that  they 
had  once  made  nine  bundles  for  eight  persons, 
made  careful  division  of  their  belongings. 


THE   PIRATE   SHIP  109 

"The  spinning-wheel  is  not  here  and  dear 
Wolf  is  not  here,  but  we  have  everything 
else,"  said  Margareta. 

"Including  a  tame  bear,"  ventured  Con- 
rad, knowing  that  there  would  be  no  boxing 
of  ears  to-day. 

To  the  laughing  astonishment  of  the  trav- 
elers, the  pilot  was  on  the  deck  in  the  morning 
when  they  came  up  to  greet  the  sun.  He  ral- 
lied them  upon  their  laziness  and  passed  out 
another  gift  of  fruit,  and  then  took  command 
of  the  ship.  To  the  keen  disappointment  of 
the  boys  the  Indians  did  not  come  on  board, 
but  were  towed  in  their  rowboat. 

Past  the  low  shores  of  Long  Island,  nearer 
and  nearer  to  the  village  of  New  York  moved 
the  Lyon,  more  and  more  excited  grew  the 
pilgrims. 

"I  can  see  houses!" 

"And  smoke  rising  from  chimneys!" 

"And  men  walking  about!" 

"There  is  a  wharf  with  people  on  it! " 

"We  are  here  at  last,  at  last!" 

Some  one  started  a  hymn  and  a  single  stanza 
was  sung.   Then  voices  failed. 


no        THE   LONG  JOURNEY 

John  Conrad  stood  silently,  his  older  chil- 
dren close  to  him  and  little  John  Frederick  in 
his  arms.  With  them  was  Peter  Zenger,  his 
arm  round  Conrad's  neck.  John  Conrad  saw 
the  house  and  the  people  and  the  strange 
shore,  and  the  certainty  of  impending  change 
swept  over  him.  These  —  his  boys  and  girls 
—  what  would  befall  them?  They  were  his 
now,  but  the  new  land  must  divide  them  from 
him.  Each  must  do  his  work.  Already  the 
sound  of  voices  drifted  to  him  from  this  alien 
shore.  He  longed  to  put  into  one  sentence  all 
his  love  and  hope.  With  brimming  eyes  he 
looked  at  his  little  flock  for  whom  he  had 
made  the  long  journey,  for  whom  he  had  for- 
gotten sadness  and  heartache. 

"  Children,"  he  said.  "Margareta  and 
Magdalena  and  Sabina  and  Conrad — " 
John  Conrad's  voice  faltered.  In  a  moment 
he  began  once  more  with  a  new  message. 
"Children,  —  George  and  Christopher  and 
Barbara  and  little  John  and  dear  Peter,  — 
here  is  now  your  Fatherland." 


VII 

THE   HOME  ASSIGNED 

/^ILOSE  together  the  Weisers  stepped  from 
^^  the  gangplank  of  the  Lyon.  Their  ques- 
tion as  to  what  they  were  to  do  was  soon 
solved  by  their  prompt  shepherding  from  the 
wharf  into  small  boats  by  the  officers  of  the 
port. 

"Where  do  we  go?"  asked  John  Conrad 
in  astonishment. 

" There  has  been  ship  fever  on  the  Lyon," 
answered  some  one.  "You  go  to  Nuttall's 
Island." 

Like  millions  to  follow  them,  the  Germans 
soon  gazed  from  Nuttall's  Island  across  the 
bay.  They  were  given  little  houses  to  live 
in,  and  as  the  magistrate  of  Oberdorf  had 
greeted  them  on  Blackheath,  they  greeted 
presently  their  friends  from  the  other  ships. 
There  were  happy  reunions,  there  were  stories 
of  death  and  danger  by  sea,  there  was  the 
common  hope  of  better  things. 


H2       THE  LONG  JOURNEY 

When  the  cool  winds  of  September  began 
to  blow  and  they  were  still  waiting  to  be  re- 
leased from  what  seemed  like  captivity,  the 
Germans  became  impatient  and  then  fright- 
ened. They  wished  to  set  to  work  so  that  they 
might  the  sooner  finish  their  task  of  tar-mak- 
ing and  begin  to  labor  on  their  own  account. 
During  the  long  journey  boys  and  girls  had 
grown  up;  like  Conrad,  other  boys  longed  for 
adventure,  and  like  Margareta,  other  young 
women  wished  to  begin  the  establishment  of 
a  home.  Among  the  Germans  there  was  sud- 
denly a  new  spirit  of  independence.  Here  was 
not  the  goal  for  which  they  had  striven. 

"The  Governor  has  not  completed  his  ar- 
rangements," said  John  Conrad  to  his  impa- 
tient countrymen. 

"Then  let  us  go  to  that  Schoharie  which 
the  Indians  gave  us."  Conrad  spoke  for  all 
the  younger  Germans. 

"We  are  bound  to  make  tar,"  reminded 
John  Conrad,  who  looked  at  his  son  in  amaze- 
ment. 

Presently  came  Governor  Hunter,  who  had 
crossed  the  ocean  in  one  of  the  last  ships  of 


THE   HOME   ASSIGNED       113 

the  fleet.  His  visit,  so  eagerly  expected,  had 
a  sorrowful  outcome.  From  one  end  of  the 
settlement  to  the  other  he  walked  and  at  the 
cabin  of  John  Conrad  he  paused. 

"You  are  to  go  soon  to  Livingston  Manor 
to  begin  your  work.  You  are  the  man  who 
was  in  the  Queen's  audience  room.  I  depend 
upon  you  to  be  a  good  influence  among  your 
fellows."  His  bright  gaze  traveled  from 
child  to  child.    "  You  have  a  large  family." 

Before  John  Conrad  could  answer,  young 
Conrad  stepped  from  the  doorway,  disregard- 
ing his  father's  frown. 

"Oh,  sir,  I  wish  we  might  go  to  Scho- 
harie!" 

Governor  Hunter  looked  at  him  coldly. 

"You  will  go  where  I  send  you." 

When  the  Governor  had  gone,  his  agent 
announced  a  startling  command  which  he 
had  left.  Among  the  Germans  were  too  many 
children.  In  New  York  and  on  Long  Island 
were  farmers  and  merchants  who  needed 
help.  To  them  the  orphans  and  some  other 
young  lads  must  be  apprenticed. 

"Not  our  children!"  cried  Magdalena. 


ii4        THE   LONG  JOURNEY 

John  Conrad  shook  his  head  ominously. 
He  had  counted  his  children  over  before  he 
left  the  ship,  —  was  separation  to  come  so 
soon?  That  evening  he  admonished  gentle 
Christopher  and  grave  George  Frederick 
tenderly  and  solemnly. 

"  We  must  submit  to  the  Governor's  will," 
said  he.  "My  little  lads  know  what  is  right. 
To  do  right  is  all  that  is  required  of  them." 

The  next  day  boats  anchored  at  Nuttall's 
Island  and  from  them  stepped  English  and 
Dutch  farmers  and  their  wives.  Upon  the 
heads  of  Christopher  and  George  Frederick 
were  laid  a  pair  of  plump  hands. 

"These  I  would  like,"  said  a  kind  voice. 

The  eager  eyes  of  the  Weiser  family  gazed 
through  tears. 

"Both  together?"  asked  John  Conrad 
thickly. 

"Both  together,"  answered  the  farmer's 
wife.  "We  have  a  good  farm  and  no  chil- 
dren." When  she  saw  that  little  Christopher 
cried,  she  put  her  hand  into  the  deep  pocket 
in  the  skirt  of  her  husband's  coat  and  drew 
out  a  bar  of  maple  sugar,  the  only  candy  of 


THE   HOME   ASSIGNED      115 

the  colonies.  "  I  put  something  in  my  pocket 
for  my  new  children."  Then  she  sat  down  on 
the  rough  bench  before  the  little  door.  "The 
boats  will  not  go  back  for  a  long  time  to 
come.    In  the  mean  time  we  will  talk." 

Now  more  tears  were  shed,  but  they  were 
not  bitter  tears.  The  English  of  the  Weisers 
was  broken,  but  it  sufficed  to  relate  the  sad 
history  of  Gross  Anspach,  the  kindness  of 
George  Reimer,  the  cruel  cold  on  Blackheath, 
and  the  dangers  of  the  sea.  When  the  time 
for  parting  came,  the  Weisers  trooped  to  the 
boats.  Peter  Zenger  was  to  go  also,  with  a 
brisk  printer,  Bradford  by  name.  Hands  were 
waved  until  they  could  wave  no  longer;  then 
the  Weisers  turned  back  to  their  little  hut. 

"Two  are  gone/'  said  John  Conrad,  be- 
wildered. "My  dear  children!  My  dear 
children!"  Then  poor  John  Conrad  burst 
once  more  into  tears. 

When  in  November  twelve  hundred  of  the 
four  thousand  Germans  who  had  left  Black- 
heath  ascended  the  Hudson  River,  there  was 
another  grievous  parting.  Margareta's  young 
man  had  found  work  in  New  York,  but  until 


n6        THE   LONG  JOURNEY 

he  earned  a  little  he  and  Margareta  could  not 
marry.  One  of  the  Weisers,  at  least,  looked 
back  instead  of  forward  as  the  heavily  laden 
boats  made  their  slow  way  up  the  stream. 
Conrad  wished  to  stay  also  and  find  work, 
but  neither  the  Governor's  agent  nor  his 
father  would  give  him  permission.  The 
agent,  Cast  by  name,  was  sharp  of  tongue, 
and  with  him  the  young  men  had  begun  to 
dispute.  Others  like  Conrad  were  strong  of 
will  and  hot  of  temper.  In  the  long  period  of 
waiting,  gratitude  to  the  English  had  some- 
what faded. 

The  arrival  at  the  new  home  was  dreary. 
Upon  the  stretch  of  forest  in  which  the  set- 
tlement was  to  be  made  there  was  only  the 
agent's  comfortable  log  house.  It  was  late 
afternoon  when  the  pilgrims  were  put  ashore. 
At  sight  of  the  unimproved  and  repellent 
spot  they  looked  at  one  another  in  dismay. 

"Is  it  for  this  that  we  have  come  so  far?" 

John  Conrad  began  again  his  old  work  of 
encouragement. 

"At  last  we  have  work  to  do.  By  night  we 
must  have  some  sort  of  shelter. " 


THE   HOME   ASSIGNED       117 

The  next  day  substantial  houses  of  logs  be- 
gan to  rise  among  the  tall  pine  trees.  John 
Conrad's  suspicions  about  his  second  daugh- 
ter proved  to  be  true.  Quiet  Magdalena  and 
the  young  man  upon  whom  she  had  smiled 
announced  that  they,  too,  would  build  a 
house. 

Then,  when  houses  were  built  and  logs  were 
burning  in  the  great  chimneys,  the  Germans 
waited  idly.  Tar-making  was  not  to  begin, 
it  seemed,  until  spring.  Again  John  Conrad 
counseled  patience. 

"We  are  here,  we  cannot  get  away  and, 
moreover,  we  have  given  our  word.  We  are 
fed  and  clothed.  In  the  spring  things  will 
be  better.  We  cannot  expect  everything  at 
once." 

Young  Conrad  answered  sharply. 

"The  men  say  that  this  land  will  never  be 
good  farming  land,  father.  After  the  pine 
trees  are  cut,  we  shall  have  nothing.  I  would 
find  that  Schoharie  which  the  Indians  gave 
us.    There  is  our  home." 

John  Conrad  shook  his  head. 

"We  must  have  patience,"  said  he. 


n8        THE   LONG  JOURNEY 

Slowly  the  winter  passed.  In  the  cold  of 
January  little  John  Frederick,  so  loved  and 
cherished,  died,  and  was  the  first  of  the  colony 
to  be  buried  in  the  new  land. 

"Now,"  said  John  Conrad,  "it  is  our  land, 
indeed." 

In  April  Magdalena  was  married  by  a 
clergyman  who  came  from  the  older  German 
settlement  across  the  river.  The  wedding 
was  merry:  even  Margareta,  who  had  heard 
but  once  from  her  lover,  put  anxiety  away 
and  smiled  and  danced  the  old-fashioned 
dances  of  Gross  Anspach  weddings.  When 
Magdalena  had  gone  to  the  little  log  house 
with  her  husband,  John  Conrad  sat  before  his 
door. 

"She  has  done  well.  Now  of  nine,  only  four 
are  left  me." 

Once  during  the  winter  Conrad  saw  an 
Indian.  The  tall  figure  crossed  the  end  of  a 
little  glade  and  as  fast  as  he  could  Conrad 
pursued  it.  But  the  Indian  had  vanished; 
there  was  neither  sound  nor  motion  in  the 
still  forest.  Gradually,  their  lands  taken  from 
them,  themselves  often  ill-treated,  the  Indians 


THE   HOME   ASSIGNED       119 

were  withdrawing  from  the  neighborhood  of 
the  settlements. 

In  great  excitement  Conrad  hurried  to  his 
father. 

"Father,  I  have  seen  an  Indian.  Let  us 
ask  him  to  guide  us  to  Schoharie!" 

"We  are  not  permitted  to  go." 

"Let  us  go  without  permission.  I  can 
fight,  father." 

Again  John  Conrad  regarded  his  son  with 
astonishment. 

"We  have  come  for  peace,  not  for  war. 
God  knows  we  have  suffered  enough  from 
war!  Let  me  hear  no  more  of  such  madness, 
Conrad,  and  sit  no  more  with  the  young  men, 
but  with  your  sisters." 

In  the  early  spring  tools  were  given  out  for 
the  cutting  of  the  pine  trees  and  slashes  were 
made  in  the  tough  bark  so  that  the  sap  might 
gather.  In  two  years  the  trees  would  be  felled 
and  burned  in  kilns. 

In  the  early  summer  came  a  new  command. 
Over  the  great  continent  evil  forces  were 
astir.  Like  the  bent  bow,  the  line  of  the 
French   and   their   allied    Indians   stretched 


120        THE   LONG  JOURNEY 

from  Montreal  to  New  Orleans,  its  curve 
including  the  Mississippi;  like  the  string 
within  stretched  the  English  line.  There  was 
conflict  at  Montreal  where  the  Five  Nations 
were  true  to  their  English  alliance,  and 
thither  the  Germans  were  to  go  in  three  com- 
panies. At  once  they  forgot  their  wrongs  and 
willingly  they  started,  John  Conrad  in  com- 
mand of  a  company. 

The  Germans  gave  the  Queen  little  help, 
not  because  they  were  not  willing  and  able, 
but  because  the  short  campaign  was  almost 
over.  They  marched  back  as  they  had  come, 
congratulating  themselves  upon  the  pay  they 
would  receive  for  military  service.  At  last 
they  could  buy  a  few  spinning-wheels  and 
perhaps  a  horse  and  cow. 

But  the  Governor's  agent  laughed. 

"Does  a  man  pay  extra  to  his  servants?" 

"You  did  not  give  us  our  due  food  while 
they  were  away!"  cried  young  Conrad. 

The  agent  shook  his  fist. 

"Return  your  arms  and  get  back  to  your 
work!" 

When  the  arms  were  returned,  a  dozen 


THE    HOME   ASSIGNED       121 

guns  were  lacking.  The  older  Germans  were 
clearly  puzzled,  but  the  guns  could  not  be 
found. 

In  a  week  the  Governor  came  again  to  visit 
his  colony.  His  shoulders  were  bent  and  his 
countenance  had  changed.  The  good  Queen 
was  dead  and  the  support  promised  for  his 
cherished  enterprise  of  tar-making  came 
slowly  from  her  successor.  To  the  Governor 
appealed  now  the  leading  men  of  the  settle- 
ment. Perhaps  it  was  the  cruel  contrast  be- 
tween his  magnificence  and  their  rags  which 
made  him  at  first  willing  to  listen  and  to  con- 
ciliate. 

As  John  Conrad  had  talked  bravely  and 
simply  to  the  Queen,  so  he  spoke  to  the  Gov- 
ernor. The  oldest  of  the  settlers  shared  by 
this  time  the  discontent  of  the  young  men. 

"It  is  almost  a  year  since  we  came  and  we 
have  done  nothing  for  ourselves.  Even  if  we 
can  make  tar,  we  are  not  advanced  because 
this  land  is  not  farming  land.  We  beg  to  be 
allowed  to  go  to  that  country  which  the  In- 
dians gave  us,  where  we  can  have  permanent 
homes.    Is  there  no  pine  there?" 


122       THE   LONG  JOURNEY 

The  Governor  made  no  answer. 

"And  we  would  have  pay  for  our  service 
as  soldiers.  We  are  very  poor,  as  you  can 
see,  and  soldiering  was  not  in  our  bargain.' ' 

The  Governor  smiled  as  his  agent  had 
smiled. 

"You  will  serve  yourself  and  your  friends 
best  by  counseling  obedience, ' '  said  he.  "  You 
cannot  go  away." 

When  the  Governor  had  gone,  his  agent 
walked  down  the  street  of  the  settlement.  In 
his  path  stood  young  Conrad,  who  forgot 
once  more  his  father's  admonitions. 

"The  Germans  have  guns,  sir,"  said  Con- 
rad. 

Cast  returned  at  once  to  his  house.  In  a 
moment  his  servant  was  riding  rapidly  along 
the  river-bank  to  intercept  the  Governor  at 
the  next  settlement,  twenty  miles  away. 

"I  am  charged  with  a  message  to  Your 
Honor,"  he  cried  breathlessly  at  sight  of  the 
Governor.  "The  German  people  are  armed. 
Our  lives  are  not  safe." 

The  Governor  sailed  up  the  river  once 
more.  When  he  reached  Livingston  Manor,  it 


THE   HOME   ASSIGNED      123 

was  dark  and  the  Germans  knew  nothing  of 
his  coming  nor  of  the  prompt  departure  of 
the  agent's  servant  through  the  forest  to  the 
north.  The  next  afternoon  they  were  called 
together.  To  their  amazement  the  Governor 
appeared.  In  a  stern  voice  he  read  a  contract 
to  them. 

"But  that  is  not  our  contract, "  protested 
a  mystified  John  Conrad.    "We  — " 

The  Governor  waved  them  from  his  pres- 
ence. 

"It  is  your  contract.  Think  over  your 
situation  and  return  to-morrow.' ' 

That  evening  the  older  Germans  talked 
earnestly  in  the  Weiser  house.  They  agreed 
to  ask  again  that  they  be  permitted  to  leave 
and  that  they  be  paid.  But  to  resist  they 
were  helpless.  Resistance,  moreover,  was 
wrong. 

For  a  while  Conrad  listened;  then  he  joined 
a  score  of  young  men  who  waited  for  him  out- 
side in  the  shadow. 

"  It  is  all  for  peace,"  said  he.  "I  believe  that 
Governor  Hunter  means  to  entrap  them." 

Quietly  the  young  men  slipped  into  the 


i24        THE   LONG  JOURNEY 

darker  woods.  Into  a  little  cave  high  above 
the  river,  Conrad  crept  on  hands  and  knees. 
One  by  one  he  passed  out  a  dozen  guns. 
Though  the  leader  of  the  enterprise  was  the 
youngest  of  all,  his  friends  looked  at  him 
with  admiration.  In  their  admiration  Conrad 
forgot  his  own  somewhat  troublesome  con- 
science. 

In  the  morning,  John  Conrad  and  his 
friends  visited  the  Governor.  They  had,  they 
said,  considered  their  situation,  and  they  were 
not  satisfied. 

The  Governor  looked  over  their  heads  in 
the  direction  of  Albany. 

"We  do  not  wish  to  be  undutiful,"  ex- 
plained John  Conrad.  "What  we  ask  is  only 
justice.  We  did  not  promise  to  stay  forever 
in  a  barren  land."  John  Conrad's  voice 
trembled  as  it  had  trembled  in  Gross  Anspach 
when  he  spoke  of  the  country  which  they  had 
seen  in  their  dreams.  "We  wish  to  go  to 
Schoharie.' ' 

"Whether  or  not  you  'wish  to  go  to  Scho- 
harie,'" the  Governor  mocked  them  like  a 
child,  "you  are  to  stay  here."   Now  the  Gov- 


THE   HOME   ASSIGNED      125 

ernor  stamped  his  foot.    "Here  is  your  land, 
here  you  are  to  live  and  die!" 

The  agent  could  not  resist  a  temptation  to 
add  a  word. 

"You  should  be  shot  for  your  imperti- 
nence!" 

Then  the  agent  gave  a  wild  scream.  The 
punishment  which  he  proposed  so  angrily 
seemed  likely  to  be  carried  into  effect  upon 
himself.  Upon  the  little  house  he  saw  an 
armed  host  approaching.  Waiting  for  sound 
of  strife,  the  young  men  had  come  to  the  de- 
fense of  their  elders. 

"They  will  murder  us!"  screamed  the 
agent. 

Young  Conrad  stepped  inside  the  door. 

"We  ask  only — "  Then  Conrad  paused. 
Neither  the  Governor  nor  the  agent  was 
listening  to  what  he  was  saying.  Even  the 
eyes  of  his  father,  which  had  looked  upon 
him  with  horrified  amazement,  were  turned 
away.  From  the  young  men  behind  him  came 
a  loud  warning  to  run,  and  he  turned  his 
head.  Among  the  trees  was  a  gleam  of  red 
and  a  glitter  of  steel.  The  agent's  servant  had 


126       THE   LONG  JOURNEY 

made  a  swift  trip  to  the  British  garrison  at 
Albany. 

"  Captain,  collect  these  guns,"  commanded 
the  Governor.  Then  he  turned  to  young  Con- 
rad. "  Another  stirring-up  of  rebellion  and 
you  will  pay  the  penalty  of  a  rebel." 

Now  the  Germans  gave  up  their  arms  and 
went  back  to  their  work.  Some  of  the  trees 
were  said  to  be  fit  for  felling  and  a  few  kilns 
were  constructed.  In  these  the  pine  knots 
were  first  to  be  burned.  To  the  task  of  gath- 
ering them  the  little  children  were  appointed 
and  Conrad  was  made  their  superintendent. 
The  work  was  humiliating  and  he  obeyed  un- 
willingly. His  father  had  said  nothing  to  him 
of  his  rebellion,  but  he  knew  that  it  was  con- 
stantly in  John  Conrad's  mind.  The  presence 
of  the  red-coated  soldiers,  who  treated  the 
whole  settlement  like  dangerous  criminals, 
was,  John  Conrad  may  have  thought,  re- 
proach enough. 

Now  another  winter  came  and  passed,  a 
winter  of  idleness  and  discontent  for  Conrad, 
of  sadness  for  Margareta,  and  of  great  phys- 
ical suffering  for  all.    The  miserable  substi- 


THE   HOME   ASSIGNED       127 

tutes  for  woolen  clothes,  the  poor  food,  the 
bitter  cold  weakened  their  bodies  and  de- 
pressed their  minds.  No  longer  could  Con- 
rad enliven  the  camp  with  music,  since  his 
dear  flute  had  to  be  exchanged  for  food.  The 
Governors  agent  now  played  upon  it,  but  he 
played  no  German  tunes.  Barbara  and  Sa- 
bina  grew  as  pale  and  thin  as  their  older  sister, 
whose  hopes  of  seeing  her  lover  had  almost 
died.  Once  more  as  on  shipboard  John  Con- 
rad thought  and  spoke  of  the  beauties  of  the 
heavenly  country. 

Presently  John  Conrad  was  served  with  an 
astonishing  notice.  The  Germans  might  go! 
Hearts  leaped;  there  were  cries  of  joy.  Then 
the  hand  which  held  the  order  began  to 
tremble. 

/'We  may  go  south  or  east,  but  not  north 
or  west.  To  Schoharie  we  dare  not  go.  It  is 
my  opinion  that  this  business  of  tar-making 
has  failed.  It  cannot  be  that  they  will  turn 
us  adrift  and  yet  forbid  us  that  which  is  ours. 
God  in  heaven  help  us!" 

To  the  confused  and  terrified  settlement 
came  another  fearful  threat.    No  longer,  said 


128        THE   LONG  JOURNEY 

the  Governor,  would  he  feed  women  or  chil- 
dren who  had  no  men  to  repay  him  in  labor. 
A  few  single  men  married  at  once  their  young 
countrywomen  who  were  without  support. 
Among  them  was  John  Conrad. 

The  summer  passed  in  uncertainty.  In 
September  another  notice  came.  The  busi- 
ness of  tar-making  was  for  the  present  ended. 
The  Germans  would  receive  no  more  food, 
but  must  shift  for  themselves.  With  cruel 
thoroughness  they  were  now  abandoned. 

"And  we  dare  not  go  to  Schoharie!"  they 
cried.  "Last  week  Kniskern  tried  to  get 
away  and  the  soldiers  brought  him  back. 
We—" 

Then  upon  the  frightened  assembly  rushed 
young  Conrad. 

"The  soldiers  are  gone!" 

With  one  accord  the  council  adjourned, 
running  to  the  upper  end  of  the  settlement. 
The  camp-ground  was  deserted. 

Now  it  was  proposed  that  the  settlement 
should  start  as  a  body  with  the  dawn.  At 
this  poor  Margareta  burst  into  tears.  In  the 
wilderness  her  young  man  could  never  find 


THE    HOME   ASSIGNED       129 

her.  It  had  been  some  small  comfort  to  feel 
that  at  least  he  knew  where  she  was. 

But  Margareta  was  to  have  a  little  longer 
to  watch  and  wait.  Once  more  the  dissuad- 
ing voice  of  John  Conrad  warned  his  com- 
panions. 

"My  friends!  We  do  not  know  where  this 
land  is.  A  few  chosen  men  must  make  their 
way  thither  in  the  two  rude  boats  owned  by 
the  settlers,  and  consult  with  the  Indians  and 
return.  At  Albany  we  might  find  a  guide.  It 
is  the  only  way." 

For  hours  the  council  sat  in  the  Weiser 
house.  It  was  agreed  that  seven  men  should 
start  in  the  morning.  Conrad  sat  listening, 
his  eyes  looking  through  the  log  walls,  across 
the  blue  river,  his  heart  longing  to  see  once 
more  those  great  warriors,  his  friends.  When 
the  council  had  adjourned,  he  caught  his 
father  by  the  arm. 

"Oh,  father,  let  me  go,  too!" 

"We  dare  not  take  more  than  are  neces- 
sary, lad." 

"I  will  be  wise  and  patient,  father." 

"You  have  yet  to  prove  yourself  to  be  so, 


i3o       THE  LONG  JOURNEY 

Conrad."  John  Conrad  looked  gravely  into 
the  beseeching  eyes.  "Your  time  of  respon- 
sibility will  come,  lad ;  see  that  you  are  ready 
for  it." 


VIII 
THE   FLIGHT   BEGINS 

THOUGH  Conrad  was  not  allowed  to  go 
to  Schoharie  with  his  father  and  the 
other  deputies,  he  was  allowed  to  see  them  on 
their  way.  The  evening  following  the  council 
at  which  their  plans  were  made,  the  moon 
rose  late,  a  fact  which  suited  their  pur- 
poses. 

"We  can  slip  away  in  the  darkness,  and 
still  have  the  moon  to  light  our  journey,"  said 
John  Conrad.  "It  may  be  that  they  are 
watching  us.  There  will  be  two  boats,  and 
these  must  be  brought  back,  since  we  may 
find  a  shorter  path  through  the  forest  when 
we  return." 

Conrad's  blue  eyes  lifted  to  his  father's  in 
appeal. 

"Let  me  go  with  you  and  bring  the  boats 
back.  I  can  row  well  and  I  will  be  very  care- 
ful." 

John  Conrad  consulted  with  his  friends. 


132       THE   LONG   JOURNEY 

When  they  said  ''yes,"  Conrad  rushed  to  get 
ready. 

The  journey  to  Albany  consumed  three 
days.  Here  and  there,  where  the  banks  of  the 
river  were  low,  the  travelers  saw  fine  farms 
which  they  longed  to  possess.  They  did  not 
dare  to  stop,  however,  to  inspect  the  land, 
since  it  seemed  to  them  that  they  could  hear 
on  every  breeze  the  sound  of  pursuers,  bid- 
ding them  return  to  the  slavery  which  was 
worse  than  death.  There  were  no  villages  and 
they  passed  but  few  boats.  If  they  were 
hailed,  Conrad  answered  in  the  best  English 
he  could  muster. 

Albany  was  only  a  small  settlement,  but 
here  was  stationed  the  garrison  of  soldiers 
from  which  the  company  had  been  sent  to 
subdue  the  Germans,  and  therefore  recog- 
nition and  arrest  were  easily  possible.  The 
two  boats  were  beached  late  in  the  afternoon 
below  the  town,  and  here  the  deputies  hid 
until  nightfall. 

When  darkness  came  Conrad,  rowing  one 
boat  and  towing  the  other,  dropped  quietly 
downstream  with  the  current.     In  a  thick 


THE   FLIGHT   BEGINS        133 

wood  to  which  his  father  had  pointed  him  on 
the  upward  journey,  he  stayed  alone  during 
the  warm  September  night.  He  was  tired,  but 
it  was  a  long  time  before  he  could  go  to  sleep. 
He  heard  a  gentle  wind  moving  the  treetops; 
he  heard  a  twig  snap  near  by,  as  though  some 
wild  creature  were  coming  closer  and  closer 
with  sinister  intent.  Several  times  he  sprang 
to  his  feet.  When  the  dim  landscape  appeared 
unchanged  and  without  living  inhabitants,  he 
lay  down  once  more. 

Still  he  could  not  sleep.  His  thoughts 
traveled  to  Livingston  Manor  with  its  cruel 
disappointments,  to  the  long  ocean  journey, 
to  Blackheath,  even  to  Gross  Anspach.  What 
vague,  splendid  dreams  he  had  had  of  the 
future  and  of  the  new  land !  He  had  dreamed 
of  becoming  rich  and  powerful  and  important, 
and  all  he  had  succeeded  in  doing  was  gath- 
ering a  few  pine  knots!  Remembering  that 
childish  service,  he  laughed  bitterly.  If  his 
father  had  given  him  his  way  he  might  have 
done  better,  but  his  father  would  not  believe 
that  he  was  a  man.  Then,  before  more  dreary 
thoughts  came  to  depress  him,  he  fell  asleep, 


i34       THE   LONG  JOURNEY 

his  head  pillowed  on  his  arm,  his  weary  body 
finding  the  hard  ground  a  downy  bed. 

Early  in  the  morning  he  continued  his  jour- 
ney down  the  river,  his  eyes  watching  care- 
fully for  enemies.  But  no  emissaries  of  an 
angry  Governor  came  to  meet  him.  The  Ger- 
mans were,  it  was  plainly  evident,  wholly 
abandoned  to  their  misery.  Past  the  tall  cliffs, 
past  the  open  farmlands,  where  some  day 
would  be  pleasant  villages  and  towns,  he 
floated.  He  was  hungry,  but  he  had  been 
hungry  many  times;  he  was  tired,  but  he  did 
not  mind  weariness. 

At  the  settlement  he  found  all  as  it  had 
been.  The  soldiers  had  not  returned  and  the 
agent  had  vanished.  A  hundred  plans  were 
being  made  for  the  journey  into  the  wilder- 
ness. A  few  families  announced  that  they 
would  not  go.  The  Governor  would  not  for- 
sake them  utterly;  if  he  did,  they  would  rather 
seek  for  help  among  their  fellow  countrymen 
across  the  river  than  trust  themselves  to  the 
forest. 

In  Albany,  the  deputies  sought  out  quietly 
the  German  families  whom  they  knew  and 


THE   FLIGHT   BEGINS        135 

from  their  houses  were  able  to  make  inquiries. 
That  there  was  an  Indian  settlement  of  Scho- 
harie was  certain.  There  were  at  that  time 
in  Albany  several  Mohawk  Indians  from  the 
neighborhood  of  Schenectady,  another  Indian 
village,  who  could  answer  questions.  With 
one,  whom  the  English  called  John  Meyndert, 
the  deputies  talked  before  the  day  was  over. 
With  grunts  and  nods  he  promised  to  be  their 
guide  and  interpreter,  and  in  his  canoe  and 
the  canoe  of  another  Indian  they  traveled  to 
Schenectady,  where,  after  a  night's  rest,  they 
started  across  a  line  of  rough  hills  toward  the 
southwest. 

Of  the  beauties  of  the  September  woods  the 
seven  deputies  saw  nothing.  With  eyes  fixed 
upon  the  man  in  front,  each  man  walked  dog- 
gedly and  stubbornly  on,  determined  not  to 
yield  to  the  fatigue  which  the  rapid  pace  pro- 
duced. Soft  of  tread  and  sure  of  foot  John 
Meyndert  stalked  ahead  as  silent  as  the  tree 
trunks  among  which  he  moved.  An  occasional 
"Ugh"  when  the  slipping  foot  of  one  of  the 
travelers  threatened  an  ugly  fall,  or  a  shake  of 
the  head  when  some  one  pointed  to  a  fruit  or 


i36        THE   LONG   JOURNEY 

berry  which  looked  as  though  it  were  edible, 
formed  his  share  of  the  conversation. 

At  last,  at  noon  of  a  pleasant  day,  Meyn- 
dert  halted  his  long  stride  and  pointed  down- 
ward. They  had  reached  and  crossed  a  rough 
elevation  whose  loose  stones  made  it  almost 
impossible  to  climb.  Now,  wearily,  the  depu- 
ties lifted  their  eyes  toward  Meyndert  and 
followed  his  pointing  finger. 

It  was  John  Conrad  who  cried  out  first. 

"Oh,  see!" 

In  a  second  the  last  of  the  party  had  come 
out  on  the  little  shelf  of  rock  to  which  Meyn- 
dert had  led  them.  Peter  Kniskern  pointed 
with  a  shaking  hand. 

"Schoharie?" 

The  Indian  answered  with  a  grin. 

Then,  for  a  long  time,  no  one  spoke  a  word, 
and  no  one  moved  except  to  wipe  from  his 
eyes  the  tears  of  which  middle  age  had  learned 
not  to  be  ashamed. 

The  smiling  valley  lay  before  them, 
threaded  through  its  broad  plain  with  the 
river  now  in  flood.  Here  where  they  stood 
the  banks  rose  precipitously;  yonder  there 


THE    FLIGHT   BEGINS       137 

was  a  more  gradual  ascent;  but  on  every  side 
the  broad  valley  was  sheltered.  The  travelers 
looked  their  fill,  then  one  by  one  gave  judg- 
ment in  slow  sentences. 

"  Those  are  rich  and  fertile  meadows." 
"See  this  fine  spring  below  us!" 
"How  quickly  would  fruit  trees  grow  and 
vineyards  cover  the  hillsides!" 

"It  is  like"  —  the  voice  sank  to  a  whisper 
—  "it  is  like  the  valleys  of  Germany!" 

As  they  descended  the  steep  hill,  Meyndert 
pointed  out  the  Indian  village  at  the  far  end 
of  the  valley.  It  was  a  time  of  year  when  food 
was  abundant  and  the  villages  were  comfort- 
able. As  the  visitors  approached,  children 
dashed  for  cover  in  the  neat  wigwams  set  on 
each  side  of  a  narrow  street,  and  women,  busy 
with  baking  or  weaving,  looked  up  in  amaze- 
ment. Toward  the  tallest  of  the  wigwams, 
Meyndert  led  his  company.  In  its  doorway 
sat  two  Indians  smoking,  at  sight  of  whom  he 
called  a  loud  "Ho!"  For  a  while  the  three 
talked  together  while  the  Germans  waited, 
aware  from  Meyndert's  gestures  that  he  was 
telling  their  errand.   Presently,  in  response  to 


138       THE   LONG  JOURNEY 

a  shout,  several  Indian  women  brought  bear- 
skins and  deerskins  from  the  wigwam  and 
spread  them  down  under  a  great  tree.  Thither 
the  Germans  were  led,  and  there  they  and  the 
three  Indians  sat  down. 

At  once  Meyndert  pointed  to  one  of  his 
hosts,  enormous  of  body  and  painted  with 
snakes  and  arrows.  He  called  him,  as  nearly 
as  the  Germans  could  understand,  "Quag- 
nant."  Quagnant  came,  so  Meyndert  indi- 
cated by  broken  sentences  and  gestures,  from 
a  valley  beyond.  He  was  a  chief  over  the 
Indians  in  this  valley  as  well  as  his  own.  He 
delivered  now  a  long  speech,  whose  meaning 
Meyndert  made  fairly  clear.  He  spoke  very 
formally  and  solemnly  after  the  manner  of  the 
Indian  people.  He  and  his  friends  would  be 
glad  to  have  the  strangers  come  among  them. 
He  had  heard  of  the  wonderful  journey  of  the 
King  of  Rivers  and  other  great  chiefs  who  were 
overlords  in  the  Five  Nations,  but  he  did  not 
know  what  had  befallen  them  or  whether  they 
had  returned,  since  they  lived  far,  far  to  the 
west.  He  was  sorry  that  these  new  brethren 
had  been  so  afflicted.   Here  they  might  have, 


THE   FLIGHT   BEGINS       139 

if  they  wished,  a  peaceful  haven.  His  people 
would  help  them  with  food  and  skins  and 
show  them  how  to  build  their  houses. 

Having  finished  his  speech  to  the  happy 
Germans,  Quagnant  commanded  that  a  feast 
be  made.  Together  all  ate  solemnly  of  Indian 
bread  and  smoked  meat,  and  took  great 
whiffs  from  a  long  pipe  lighted  and  passed  by 
Quagnant.  Then,  supplied  with  food  for  the 
journey  and  with  light  hearts,  the  Germans 
started  for  Schenectady. 

From  Schenectady  to  Albany  the  Indians 
took  the  travelers  in  their  canoes,  then  the 
Germans  set  out  on  foot,  keeping  as  near  the 
river  as  possible.  They  had  traveled  for  a  day 
when  they  heard  a  shout,  and  looking  down 
saw  two  rowboats,  one  containing  a  passen- 
ger, the  other  towed.  With  an  answering 
shout  they  descended  the  rocky  bank  to  the 
shore. 

"I  have  been  watching  and  watching," 
cried  Conrad.  "Have  you  been  to  Schoharie? 
What  did  you  find?  Did  you  see  our  friends? " 

When  a  score  of  questions  had  tumbled  out 
one  after  the  other,  the  deputies  began  to 


i4o       THE   LONG  JOURNEY 

answer.  Schoharie  was  beautiful  and  fertile 
beyond  all  their  dreams.  The  Indians  were 
not  only  willing  to  let  them  have  the  land,  but 
offered  to  help  them.  They  had  seen  noth- 
ing of  the  King  of  Rivers,  but  had  heard  of 
him. 

"They  have  houses  of  bark  in  which  they 
seem  to  be  comfortable,  but  better  houses  can 
easily  be  made." 

"They  are  satisfied  with  what  they  have; 
therefore  Fate  has  no  power  over  them.  If 
their  property  is  destroyed,  they  have  a  great 
storehouse  to  draw  from  for  more." 

"They  made  a  feast  for  us  and  gave  us 
food." 

Conrad's  blue  eyes  sought  his  father's. 

"When  will  we  start?" 

For  an  instant  John  Conrad  rowed  in  si- 
lence. His  plans  would  not  suit  Conrad,  the 
lad  who  was  so  young  and  who  thought  him- 
self so  old,  who  felt  that  so  little  time  was 
still  his,  and  who  had  a  lifetime  before  him. 

"Some  will  start  at  once,  Conrad.  But  we 
will  stay  in  Schenectady  until  the  winter  is 
over.   There  I  have  made  arrangements  with 


THE   FLIGHT  BEGINS       141 

John  Meyndert  to  keep  us.  and  there  we  will 
try  to  earn  a  little." 

Conrad  made  no  answer.  He  had  already 
seen  himself  the  first  of  the  pilgrims  to  burst 
into  the  quiet  valley. 

"We  shall  find  peace  at  last,"  went  on  John 
Conrad.  "This  Quagnant  said  no  one  should 
molest  us,  that  the  land  is  ours." 

In  a  few  days  twenty  families  started  for 
Schoharie.  It  was  late  October  and  already 
there  had  been  sharp  frost.  The  journey  must 
be  made  slowly,  since  there  were  little  chil- 
dren and  ailing  women  in  the  party.  A  few 
had  boats  for  the  first  part  of  the  way  and  the 
others  walked  along  the  river-bank,  the  rus- 
tling leaves  beneath  their  feet  giving  warning 
of  the  winter  which  was  rapidly  approaching. 
Hope  minimized  the  dangers  and  smoothed 
the  rough  path. 

A  little  later  the  Weisers  started  for  Sche- 
nectady. Magdalena,  like  Catrina  in  Gross 
Anspach,  feared  the  journey  for  her  baby,  and 
with  her  husband  crossed  the  river  to  the 
older  German  settlement  on  the  other  side. 
Like  Catrina,  she  wept  bitterly. 


i42       THE   LONG  JOURNEY 

When  bundles  had  been  packed  by  a  silent, 
pale  Margareta,  when  John  Conrad  had  al- 
ready lifted  his  pack  to  his  shoulder,  Fate, 
which  had  played  the  Weisers  many  cruel 
tricks,  became  suddenly  friendly.  A  row- 
boat  grounded  on  the  little  beach  and  a  young 
man  sprang  out  and  hailed  John  Conrad,  who 
stared  at  him  without  answering.  But  the 
young  man  did  not  wait  for  John  Conrad's 
slow  mental  processes;  he  hurried  toward  the 
pale  girl  who  gazed  as  though  she  saw  a  ghost. 
A  single  joyful  " Margareta!"  made  clear  to 
the  settlement  that  Margareta's  prayers  had 
been  answered. 

Now  the  starting  must  be  delayed  another 
day.  Across  the  river  rowed  Conrad  to  bring 
Magdalena  and  her  husband  and  the  preacher 
back  with  him ;  about  the  reunited  lovers  sat 
all  the  Germans.  Young  Baer  had  a  good 
place  and  he  had  built  a  little  house.  He  had 
written  many  times,  though  no  letter  had 
come  from  Margareta. 

"It  was  the  wicked  agent  who  kept  the 
letters,"  said  Margareta.  "God  be  thanked 
we  are  free  from  him! " 


THE   FLIGHT   BEGINS       143 

Best  of  all,  young  Baer  had  seen  Christo- 
pher and  George  Frederick  who  lived  not  far 
away. 

"They  are  well  cared  for  and  happy,  and 
they  look  for  their  sister.  Peter  Zenger,  who 
lives  near  by,  watches  for  her  also." 

At  this  all  the  tender-hearted  Germans 
wept  once  more.  The  parting  from  Mar- 
gareta  was  lightened  by  the  expectation  that 
they  would  meet  again.  Once  more  the  star 
of  hope  shone  brightly. 

In  the  lodge  of  John  Meyndert  the  Weisers 
settled  themselves  in  November.  It  was  not 
clean,  but  they  could  endure  discomfort  a 
little  longer.  The  chief  difficulty  was  the 
drunkenness  of  Meyndert,  who  had  learned 
the  white  man's  evil  habit. 

From  Meyndert  John  Conrad  and  his  son 
tried,  in  the  long,  idle  hours,  to  learn  the 
Indian  language.  They  hunted  eagerly  for 
work  in  the  settlement,  but  there  was  no  work 
to  be  had.  With  thankfulness  John  Conrad 
accepted  the  offer  of  an  Englishwoman  to 
take  Sabina  into  service.  The  Indian  lodge 
was  not  a  suitable  home  for  either  her  or  little 


i44       THE   LONG   JOURNEY 

Barbara.  At  restless,  unhappy  Conrad  his 
father  looked  uneasily.  Even  the  village  of 
Schenectady  offered  mischief  to  idle  hands. 

"  You  could  teach  the  little  children,  lad/' 
said  he. 

"I  want  a  man's  work,"  answered  Conrad 
sullenly. 

Then,  as  in  the  London  fog,  Conrad  had  a 
strange  experience. 

There  was  fog,  also,  here  by  the  Mohawk 
River,  by  which  he  walked  early  one  Novem- 
ber morning.  Again  he  went  with  head  bent, 
kicking  the  leaves  and  pebbles  before  him. 
Again  he  felt  that  stubborn  head  strike  an 
obstacle  and  himself  fly  backward.  When, 
in  amazement,  he  picked  himself  up,  he  was 
confounded.  There  was  no  obstacle  before 
him.  There  was  neither  tree  nor  rock.  Puzzled 
and  alarmed,  he  turned  toward  the  settle- 
ment. Presently  he  looked  back.  By  this 
time  the  mist  had  lifted,  and  behind  him  he 
saw  a  gigantic  Indian.  Conrad  stopped  as 
though  his  feet  were  weighted  and  the  great 
body,  wrapped  in  a  bright  new  blanket,  bore 
down  upon  him.  The  Indian  grunted  his  queer 


THE   FLIGHT   BEGINS       145 

"Ho,  Ho,"  and  motioned  Conrad  to  lead  the 
way.  That  he  had  no  unkindly  intention  was 
made  clear  by  the  smile  which  his  little  trick 
brought  to  his  face. 

At  the  first  flat  rock  to  which  they  came  he 
bade  Conrad  sit  down.  He  drew  from  the 
bundle  which  he  carried  on  his  shoulders  a 
loaf  of  Indian  bread  and  broke  off  a  large 
piece. 

"Eat,"  said  he  in  the  Mohawk  language. 
"Who  are  you?" 

"  I  am  John  Conrad  Weiser's  son  Conrad," 
answered  Conrad,  thankful  for  each  moment 
spent  in  learning  the  rudiments  of  John  Meyn- 
dert's  language. 

"To  Weiser  we  gave  a  gift.  Why  does  he 
not  come  to  take  it?  "  This  was  the  meaning 
of  the  next  sentence  as  nearly  as  Conrad  could 
guess. 

"He  will  come  in  the  springtime." 

"And  you?"  The  Indian  looked  earnestly 
into  Conrad's  blue  eyes,  as  though  astonished 
at  their  vivid  color. 

"Oh,  yes!"  cried  Conrad. 

The  Indian  said  no  more,  but  rose  and 


146        THE   LONG  JOURNEY 

walked    toward    the    settlement,    motioning 
Conrad  to  follow.    His  long  stride  soon  left 
Conrad  far  behind  and  Conrad  started  to  run, 
to  find  a  grinning  Indian  waiting  for  him  be- 
hind a  tree,  or  calling  to  him  from  the  rear. 
Presently,  when  the  Indian's  ruse   brought 
them  face  to  face,  Conrad  pointed  to  himself. 
"lam  Conrad,"  said  he.   "Who  are  you?" 
"Quagnant,"  was  the  answer. 
He  it  was  who  had  given  the  Germans  their 
hearty  welcome! 

When  they  entered  the  settlement,  Conrad 
would  have  liked  to  follow  the  chief  as  he 
went  from  Indian  house  to  Indian  house,  but 
he  did  not  dare. 

To  Meyndert's  lodge  Quagnant  came  late 
in  the  afternoon,  and  there  sat  himself  down 
on  a  pile  of  deerskins  near  the  fire.  He  had 
come,  he  said;  to  hold  a  conversation  with  the 
white  chief.  At  a  sign  from  her  husband,  John 
Meyndert's  squaw  rose  and  went  away,  beck- 
oning John  Conrad's  family  to  follow.  For 
an  instant  Conrad  thought  that  he  was  to 
remain.  Then  Quagnant,  hitherto  so  kind, 
pointed  to  him,  and  Meyndert  bade  him  go 


THE    FLIGHT   BEGINS       147 

also.  Offended,  Conrad  did  not  return  till 
hunger  drove  him  back  after  dark. 

Then  the  family,  except  John  Conrad,  were 
asleep;  as  Conrad  lifted  the  curtain  of  skins 
which  hung  across  the  door,  his  father  rose 
from  beside  the  dying  fire  and  led  him  out- 
side. In  the  starlight  he  walked  up  and  down 
with  his  hand  on  his  boy's  shoulder. 

"Conrad,  I  have  an  offer  to  set  before 
you.  I  have  kept  you  with  me,  both  because 
I  could  not  find  any  opening  for  you  and 
because  I  could  not  bear  to  let  you  go.  This 
Indian  Quagnant  has  asked  me  to  let  you  go 
with  him  to  his  village,  there  to  '  learn  to  be  a 
man,'  as  he  puts  it.  He  means  that  they  will 
teach  you  how  to  hunt  and  trap  and  how 
to  make  a  home  in  the  wilderness.  Would 
you  like  to  enter  on  this  strange  apprentice- 
ship? " 

Conrad's  full  heart  breathed  a  great  sigh. 

"Yes,  father." 

"You  cannot  come  back  until  spring.  The 
training  in  Indian  ways  may  be  very  irk- 
some." 

"Not  as  irksome  as  idleness." 


148       THE   LONG  JOURNEY 

For  an  hour  father  and  son  talked,  entering 
once  more  upon  the  future  with  a  tender  re- 
calling of  the  past.   Then  they  went  to  bed. 

In  the  misty  morning  Conrad  started  away, 
a  little  bundle  on  his  back.  He  kissed  the 
sleeping  Barbara,  he  put  both  arms  about 
his  father's  neck,  then  he  followed  the  tall 
Indian  who  walked  before  him,  silent,  mys- 
terious, his  tall  figure  dim  in  the  fog. 

They  crossed  the  wet  meadow  and  walked 
for  an  hour  by  the  stream-side,  then  Quag- 
nant  turned  into  the  forest.  They  ascended 
a  rocky  hill,  they  followed  a  narrow  valley, 
they  climbed  another  hill.  When  the  sun  was 
high  in  the  sky,  they  ate  a  lunch  of  corn  bread 
and  dried  fish  from  Quagnant's  pack.  Then, 
already  footsore  and  stiff,  Conrad  followed 
doggedly  the  long  stride  which  led  farther  and 
farther  into  the  wilderness. 


IX 
THE    DARK   FOREST 

AT  nightfall  the  travelers  camped  in  the 
shelter  of  a  huge  boulder.  Quagnant 
made  a  fire  by  rubbing  two  sticks  together; 
then  he  spread  the  embers  about  and  started 
other  fires  close  to  the  face  of  the  rock.  When 
they  had  burned  themselves  out,  he  bade 
Conrad  lie  down  on  the  warmed  ground. 
Faintly  aware  that  Quagnant  went  on  with 
some  other  device  for  making  him  comfort- 
able, Conrad  slept. 

In  the  morning  he  found  that  he  lay  in  a  tent 
formed  by  the  boughs  of  evergreens  and  that 
he  was  still  comfortably  warm.  Quagnant 
had  shot  a  bird  which  he  was  roasting  over 
the  fire.  When  it  was  eaten  and  the  fire  was 
tramped  out,  Quagnant  shouldered  his  pack. 
He  looked  up  at  the  sky,  shook  his  head,  and 
started  briskly  away. 

Until  noon  Quagnant  led  the  way  across 
rough    hills    and    through    narrow    valleys. 


150       THE   LONG  JOURNEY 

While  they  ate  their  lunch,  the  snow  began 
to  fall  and  Quagnant  grunted  his  annoyance. 
Soon  the  rocks  were  slippery  and  the  trail 
hard  to  find.  There  were  other  hills  and  other 
valleys  and  another  exhausted  sleep  at  night. 

On  the  third  day,  Conrad  was  certain  that 
he  could  not  rise.  Quagnant  helped  him  up 
and  many  times  in  the  morning  slackened 
his  pace  or  stopped  entirely.  In  the  afternoon 
he  stopped  short  and  bade  Conrad  look 
ahead.  They  had  come  round  the  shoulder  of 
a  hill  and  were  looking  into  a  broad  valley. 
Here  there  had  been  no  snow  and  the  mead- 
ows were  green.  Through  the  center  of  the 
valley  ran  a  stream,  broad  and  full  and 
smoothly  flowing. 

"I  see  people!"  cried  Conrad.  "They  are 
building  houses!" 

Suddenly  Conrad's  heart  throbbed  against 
his  side. 

"Schoharie!"  he  cried.  "Is  this  Scho- 
harie?" 

Quagnant  grinned. 

"Schoharie,"  he  repeated. 

Conrad  tried  to  wave  his  hand,  but  could 


THE   DARK   FOREST         151 

make  only  a  feeble  motion.  He  began  to  talk 
in  a  queer,  uncertain  way,  and  Quagnant, 
looking  at  him  uneasily,  took  him  by  the 
arm,  and  presently  lifted  him  to  his  back.  On 
he  went  until  at  dusk  he  stepped  into  a  path 
worn  into  a  deep  rut.  Ahead  were  lights  and 
the  sound  of  voices. 

When  Conrad  was  allowed  to  slip  from  the 
broad  back  to  a  soft  pile  of  deerskins,  he  felt 
that  all  the  comforts  he  had  ever  known  were 
combined  in  one  delicious  sensation.  That 
Schoharie  lay  far  behind  him  he  did  not 
know:  that  the  faces  about  him  were  dark, 
the  voices  strange,  —  all  were  matters  of 
indifference.  He  felt  the  rim  of  a  warm  cup 
against  his  lips,  then  he  fell  asleep. 

The  sun  had  been  long  in  the  sky  when  he 
woke.  He  was  in  an  oblong  house  of  bark. 
Through  a  hole  in  the  roof  the  sun  streamed 
upon  the  ashes  of  a  fire.  On  the  walls  hung 
guns  and  bows  and  arrows  and  strange  long 
spears  and  about  were  piles  of  furs,  on  one  of 
which  lay  a  little  case  of  bark  from  which 
there  issued  the  scream  of  a  hungry  baby. 
At  once  a  young  woman  lifted  the  curtain 


152       THE   LONG  JOURNEY 

at  the  door.  Before  taking  her  baby,  she 
looked  at  Conrad,  and  finding  him  awake, 
nodded  and  smiled.  In  a  moment  she  brought 
a  wooden  bowl  filled  with  broth.  Conrad 
drained  the  bowl  and  lay  back  once  more. 

When,  late  in  the  afternoon,  he  lifted  the 
curtain,  he  found  himself  in  a  village  of  bark 
houses.  At  the  far  end  of  the  single  street 
children  were  playing,  and  from  the  ashes  of 
a  fire  a  woman  was  taking  a  loaf  of  Indian 
bread.  She  gave  a  little  call  and  at  once  other 
women  appeared  and  the  children  came 
closer. 

"Where  is  Quagnant?"  asked  Conrad. 

The  women  imitated  the  sighting  of  a  gun 
and  pointed  to  their  mouths.  The  children, 
dressed  in  little  coats  and  leggings  of  leather, 
pointed  with  amazement  to  Conrad's  fair  skin 
and  then  at  their  own  dark  cheeks.  Finally 
one  came  close  to  him. 

"  Eyes-like- the-Sky,"  said  he,  and  his  com- 
panions repeated  the  strange  name. 

It  was  repeated  again  when  the  hunters 
returned  with  deer  meat,  and  there  seemed  to 
be  general  satisfaction  with  the  discernment 


THE    DARK   FOREST  153 

of  the  little  boy  whose  own  name  was  Young 
Deer. 

At  once  the  women  prepared  the  feast. 
Portions  of  the  meat  were  set  aside  to  be 
smoked;  the  rest  was  divided  into  slices  and 
broiled.  There  was  no  seasoning  and  the  In- 
dian bread  was  coarse,  but  the  meal  was  bet- 
ter than  many  which  the  guest  had  eaten. 

For  a  few  days  Conrad  watched  the  play 
of  the  children,  who  showed  him  haunts  of 
beaver  and  woodchuck,  and  taught  him  to 
make  and  spin  a  heart-shaped  top  of  wood. 
With  them  he  played  Blind  Man's  Buff,  in 
which  the  bandage  across  his  eyes  was  his 
own  dullness  of  vision  which  could  not  see 
the  little  figure  lying  among  the  leaves.  He 
watched  also  the  women  braiding  their  bas- 
kets and  grinding  earth  into  the  paint  for  the 
faces  and  bodies  of  their  husbands. 

In  the  evening  he  sat  with  the  Indians  in 
Quagnant's  house.  At  first  their  speech  was 
a  strange  jargon,  but  gradually  the  sounds 
stayed  in  his  mind  and  were  associated  with 
the  objects  to  which  they  belonged.  The 
comfortable  nights  in  the  chief's  wigwam  and 


154       THE   LONG  JOURNEY 

the  good  food  put  color  into  his  cheeks  and 
flesh  on  his  thin  body. 

But  idleness  and  luxury  did  not  long  en- 
dure. He  had  come  to  look  upon  the  deer- 
skins which  served  him  for  a  bed  as  his  own. 
One  night,  when  he  wished  to  lie  down,  they 
were  gone.  He  asked  for  them  and  was 
laughed  at. 

"You  have  no  deerskin,"  said  Quagnant. 

In  the  morning  Quagnant  gave  him  a  gun 
and  led  the  way  into  the  forest.  Three  days 
later  when  they  returned,  Quagnant  had  two 
deerskins  and  Conrad  none.  Again  he  slept 
on  the  ground  and  again  he  went  with  Quag- 
nant into  the  forest.  On  the  third  journey  he 
shot  a  buck. 

For  one  night  after  the  skin  was  dressed,  he 
slept  upon  it  in  the  chief's  house.  At  the  next 
nightfall  he  found  himself  and  his  bed  thrust 
outside.  The  Indians  laughed  at  his  aston- 
ishment and  every  laugh  said,  "  Make  a  house 
for  yourself!" 

With  the  advice  and  aid  of  the  children, 
Conrad  built  himself  a  wigwam.  At  once 
Quagnant  demolished  it. 


THE   DARK   FOREST         155 

"Wind  come  —  house  gone.  Eyes-like- the- 
Sky  can  do  better." 

When  his  house  was  finished  to  Quagnant's 
satisfaction,  Conrad  had  a  few  days  of  peace. 
Then  for  a  day  he  was  allowed  no  food ;  then 
for  two  days;  then  for  three.  He  was  taken 
to  a  distant  point  in  the  forest  and  required 
to  find  his  way  home.  One  bitter  day  he  was 
dropped  into  a  deep,  icy  pond  in  a  near-by 
stream. 

As  he  understood  more  of  the  language,  he 
listened  earnestly  to  the  talk  of  the  older 
Indians.  Through  all  ran  the  consciousness 
of  danger,  —  distant,  perhaps,  but  real. 
Sometimes  messengers  from  other  tribes  ap- 
peared suddenly  in  the  village.  Painted, 
armed,  terrible,  they  talked  always  of  the  bow 
and  the  string,  the  long  line  of  the  French 
whom  they  called  Onotio,  and  the  shorter  line 
of  English  whom  they  called  Onas. 

"Upon  Onas  Onotio  will  make  war.  When 
we  walk  in  the  forest  we  hear  it  shouted  by 
the  trees.  We  will  all  ally  ourselves  with 
Onas." 

When  there  came  to  the  village  those  who 


i56       THE   LONG  JOURNEY 

would  exterminate  all  pale-faces,  Quagnant 
hurried  Conrad  out  of  the  way.  In  January 
five  great  chiefs  came  to  visit  Quagnant. 
Conrad  gazed  at  them  earnestly,  hoping  to 
see  the  King  of  Rivers.  They  looked  back  at 
him  scowling  and  muttering,  and  Conrad  re- 
treated to  his  wigwam. 

The  chiefs  went  to  Quagnant's  house,  and 
before  them  the  women  placed  broiled  veni- 
son and  wild  turkey.  Afterwards  long  pipes 
were  solemnly  smoked.  Then  Quagnant  gave 
a  command  to  Little  Squaw  into  whose  eyes 
came  a  frightened  look.  Quagnant  saw  her 
hesitate. 

"Go!"  he  shouted. 

Hidden  away  in  the  cache  of  Quagnant, 
where  there  was  now  little  else,  there  were  a 
few  black  bottles,  paid  to  him  in  return  for 
many  beautiful  skins  carried  to  Schenec- 
tady. Little  Squaw  fetched  them  as  she  was 
bidden. 

In  the  middle  of  the  night  Conrad  heard  the 
sound  of  carousing  and  looked  out.  The  fire- 
water had  done  its  evil  work,  and  the  Indians 
sought  some  victim  upon  whom  to  spend  their 


THE   DARK   FOREST         157 

madness.  There  was  a  flash  of  steel  and  past 
Conrad's  head  flew  a  sharp  axe.  Other  weap- 
ons flashed  in  the  moonlight.  Terrified,  with- 
out blanket  or  other  extra  covering,  Conrad 
fled  into  the  forest. 

Two  days  later  in  a  blinding  snowstorm  he 
ventured  to  return.  Whether  Quagnant  re- 
membered his  behavior  it  was  difficult  to  tell. 
His  visitors  had  gone,  and  he  sat,  sullen  and 
miserable,  beside  the  fire  in  the  wigwam,  mak- 
ing no  answer  to  the  complaints  of  Little 
Squaw. 

"The  cache  is  almost  empty,"  said  she. 
"All  the  summer  I  labored  and  now  you  have 
given  large  presents  to  the  Oneidas.  I  saw 
them  go  heavily  laden.  Now  we  will  have  a 
great  storm  when  no  hunting  can  be  done." 

The  first  day  of  the  snowstorm  Conrad 
spent  in  repairing  the  damage  to  his  wigwam. 
He  thought  of  his  father  and  his  brothers  and 
sisters,  and  wondered  once  more,  in  deep  de- 
pression, to  what  goal  his  wanderings  would 
bring  him.  At  nightfall  he  ate  the  last  of  his 
food. 

It  was  still  dark  when  he  woke  in  the  morn- 


158        THE   LONG  JOURNEY 

ing ;  at  least  no  light  came  through  the  chinks 
of  the  wigwam  or  through  the  opening  at  the 
top.  Stiff  and  sore,  he  turned  and  slept.  When 
he  woke  again,  he  sprang  up  and  went  to  lift 
the  curtain  at  the  door.  To  his  amazement 
he  looked  into  darkness.  When  he  thrust  out 
his  hand  he  discovered  that  it  was  not  night 
which  surrounded  him,  but  a  wall  of  snow, 
higher  than  the  wigwam. 

He  was  not  at  first  alarmed.  He  had  heard 
more  than  one  story  of  imprisonment  for  days 
while  the  great  snows  fell.  The  snow  was 
porous,  and  the  wigwams,  thus  blanketed, 
were  warm.  He  had,  it  was  true,  no  food,  but 
he  could  go  without  food  for  a  day  or  two. 
He  was  still  not  thoroughly  rested  and  he 
would  sleep. 

He  was  wakened  by  what  sounded  like  the 
report  of  a  gun.  His  heart  failed.  Perhaps 
Quagnant's  friends  had  come  back  and  were 
prepared  to  finish  the  work  which  they  had 
threatened!  Again  there  came  the  sharp  ex- 
plosion. Now  Conrad  remembered  the  cold 
nights  of  the  great  frost  in  Gross  Anspach 
when  the  trees  had  cracked  like  pistols.  The 


THE   DARK   FOREST         159 

snow  must  have  ceased  to  fall  and  rescue 
would  soon  come. 

In  the  morning  his  mind  was  not  clear.  He 
heard  a  whistling  sound  in  the  top  of  the  wig- 
wam and  saw  a  pale  light  filtering  in.  Deep 
drifts  must  be  forming. 

"It  will  be  best  to  stay  here,"  said  he 
heavily. 

As  the  hours  passed  he  fell  into  a  stupor. 
The  wind  died,  the  light  of  sunset  showed  for 
a  few  minutes  in  a  yellow  haze  at  the  top  of 
the  wigwam,  and  once  more  through  the  long 
night  the  trees  cracked  like  pistols. 

Quagnant  and  his  squaw  and  their  large 
brood  got  comfortably  through  the  three  days 
of  imprisonment.  Quagnant  grew  mild  and 
peaceable;  he  told  stories  to  the  children  and 
obeyed  his  wife.  But  when  she  ordered  him  to 
go  and  dig  Conrad  out,  he  sent  several  young 
Indians  in  his  place.  The  recollection  of  the 
flying  hatchet  disturbed  him. 

11 1  will  drink  no  more  fire-water,"  he  prom- 
ised himself  solemnly. 

Run-as-the-Wind  and  Turkey  Feather  and 
Young  Deer  all  worked  diligently  with  the 


160       THE   LONG  JOURNEY 

hoes  which  they  borrowed  from  their  mothers. 
As  they  approached  the  door  of  the  wigwam 
they  cried,  — 

1 '  Eyes-like- the-Sky !  Wake  up !  Wake  up ! " 
When  there  was  no  answer  they  worked 
faster. 

''Perhaps  Eyes-like- the-Sky  had  no  food!" 
"A  bear  might  have  devoured  him  as  he 
slept!" 

"He  is  brave;  he  would  kill  the  bear." 
When  they  had  reached  the  door  of  the 
wigwam  and  still  Conrad  did  not  answer,  the 
rescuing  party  grew  very  quiet.  Little  Squaw 
was  the  first  to  thrust  her  head  through  the 
hole  which  the  boys  made. 

"He  lies  here  like  the  snow  itself!  Quick! 
some  hot  broth  from  Quagnant's  kettle!" 

With  a  wooden  spoon  she  forced  a  few 
drops  through  Conrad's  lips,  then  a  little 
more.  Then  she  sent  Turkey  Feather  to 
Quagnant. 

"Tell  Quagnant  a  good  bed  is  to  be  made 
by  the  fire.  Tell  him  Little  Squaw  sends  him 
this  and  this."  And  Little  Squaw  picked  up 
the  hatchets  of  Quagnant  and  his  friends.    . 


THE   DARK   FOREST         161 

That  night  the  Mohawk  village  feasted 
again.  Relieved  by  the  ending  of  the  storm 
and  the  restoration  of  Conrad,  the  squaws 
forgot  the  alarming  emptiness  of  each  family 
cache. 

The  snow  thawed  little  by  little.  When  a 
crust  formed,  it  was  not  thick  enough  to  bear 
the  weight  of  the  hunters.  Food  grew  more 
scarce  and  the  usual  two  meals  a  day  dwin- 
dled to  one.  Another  heavy  snow  made  hunt- 
ing impossible.  More  sullen  grew  the  war- 
riors, more  angry  the  squaws,  more  miserable 
the  little  children. 

After  the  second  great  snow  a  crust  formed 
and  Quagnant  started  at  once  into  the  forest, 
taking  Conrad  with  him.  The  two  crossed  the 
hill  which  lay  toward  the  west  and  followed 
the  next  valley  to  the  north.  It  was  bitterly 
cold;  insufficiently  clad  and  weak  from  lack 
of  food,  Conrad  trudged  along,  his  heart 
heavy,  his  mind  dull.  To  him  now  the  new 
country  was  a  trap  in  which  all  the  Germans 
would  be  finally  lost.  Quagnant  did  not 
speak  except  to  give  sullen  orders.  At  night- 
fall the  two  camped  supperless  and  without 


162       THE   LONG  JOURNEY 

shelter.  There  was  now  no  warming  of  a  bed, 
since  the  wood  lay  deep  under  the  snow. 

When  the  two  took  up  their  weary  journey, 
it  seemed  to  Conrad  that  Quagnant  tried 
deliberately  to  court  death.  He  climbed  an- 
other western  hill,  and  his  voice  became  more 
gruff.  Was  it  possible  that  he  meant  to  lead 
Conrad  far  away  and  desert  him?  Then  there 
would  be  one  less  mouth  in  the  Indian  vil- 
lage. 

The  sun  was  high  when  they  came  to  the 
top  of  the  hill.  Another  valley  lay  before 
them  with  a  swift,  dark  stream  flowing  through 
its  center.  Another  hill  rose  opposite.  Con- 
rad wondered  drearily  whether  his  numb  feet 
must  climb  that  also. 

"I  wish  that  the  end  would  come  soon," 
said  he  bitterly.    "  I  wish  — " 

Walking  heedlessly  as  he  had  walked  on 
the  Schenectady  meadow,  Conrad  came  with 
a  thump  into  the  same  obstacle.  Before  him 
Quagnant  had  stopped  rigid.  Terrified,  Con- 
rad looked  up.  Quagnant  was  staring  down 
into  the  valley,  where  along  the  stream  beside 
a  deep  pool  a  small  herd  of  deer  nibbled  the 


THE   DARK   FOREST         163 

green  laurel  leaves.  They  were  almost  mo- 
tionless and  they  were  within  easy  shot. 

Quagnant  pulled  the  trigger  and  a  deer 
dropped.  His  comrades  lifted  their  heads, 
but  before  they  could  dash  away  in  terror 
another  fell.  The  flight  of  the  remainder  soon 
ended.  Before  them  the  stream  plunged  over 
a  precipice;  on  both  sides  the  icy  walls  rose 
steeply.  A  third  and  a  fourth  fell  before 
Quagnant's  accurate  shots.  There  was  a  glow 
on  his  dark  cheeks,  a  fire  in  his  black  eyes. 
He  took  a  step  to  one  side  and  pulled  the 
trigger  again. 

Then,  in  spite  of  the  silence  to  which  he 
had  been  trained,  Quagnant  gave  a  fierce  yell. 
He  had  gone  a  little  too  near  the  edge  of  the 
steep  slope.  His  feet  slipped  as  the  gun  re- 
coiled and  he  slid,  making  frantic  efforts  to 
regain  his  footing. 

But  his  efforts  were  vain.  With  increasing 
speed  he  coasted  down  the  hillside,  his  course 
leading  straight  toward  the  rocky  wall  which 
dropped  abruptly  for  at  least  fifty  feet.  It 
was  as  though  an  insect  should  slip  down  the 
side  of  a  cup  with  sure  drowning  in  the  bot- 


164       THE   LONG  JOURNEY 

torn.  Then,  near  the  brink  of  the  pool,  a  bush 
caught  the  pack  on  his  shoulders  and  held  him 
suspended. 

Now  Quagnant  was  silent.  The  deer  thongs 
which  bound  the  pack  were  strong,  but  his 
body  was  heavy.  He  could  see  below  him  the 
black  pool.  In  its  icy  water  he  might  keep 
himself  afloat  for  a  few  seconds,  but  to  climb 
out  would  be  impossible.  Across  the  stream 
he  could  see  the  bodies  of  the  slain  deer,  food 
for  all  his  people,  and  he  could  hear  the  snow 
crust  breaking  as  the  others  made  their 
escape.  Conrad,  far  above  him  in  safety,  he 
could  not  see. 

Quagnant  shut  his  eyes  and  listened  to  the 
gurgle  of  the  water  and  looked  into  his  poor 
Indian  soul.  The  logic  of  the  case  was  simple. 
He  could  not  move  without  help,  and  Conrad 
would  not  help  him.  He  had  abused  the  pale- 
face and  the  pale-face  would  certainly  desert 
him.  Even  if  there  were  mercy  in  his  heart, 
Conrad  could  not  come  down  the  hill  without 
risking  his  life  nor  return  to  the  village  for 
help  before  Quagnant  would  die  of  cold. 
-   Then  Quagnant  heard  above  the  gurgle  of 


THE   DARK   FOREST         165 

the  water  a  strange  sound  as  though  some  one 
were  following  his  wild  flight.  There  was  the 
sound  of  sliding  feet,  then  silence,  then  again 
the  sound  of  sliding  feet.  Presently  began  a 
sharp  chip,  chip,  as  though  the  ice  were  being 
struck  with  a  hatchet.  Quagnant,  with  eyes 
still  closed,  began  to  address  the  Great  Spirit. 

"  I  pray  that  I  may  not  be  cut  off  from  my 
present  life,  Great  and  Good  Spirit." 

Nearer  and  nearer  came  the  sound  of  chip- 
ping; higher  and  higher  rose  the  hopes  of 
Quagnant.  It  would  be  fearful,  indeed,  to  slip 
over  the  precipice  with  rescue  at  hand!  But 
was  it  rescue?  Quagnant  remembered  again 
with  sickening  pain  the  sharp  hatchet  hurled 
at  Conrad.  It  was  that  very  hatchet  which 
Conrad  held  in  his  hand ! 

Now  Quagnant  could  feel  each  stroke  on 
the  ice.  They  were  near  his  head  —  he  gave 
himself  up.  They  had  passed  his  head  and 
were  even  with  his  waist  —  he  dared  to 
breathe  again.  When  the  chipping  had 
sounded  for  a  long  time  beside  his  foot,  he  felt 
a  hand  touch  his  foot  and  move  it  to  a  hole 
in  the  ice  in  which  it  could  find  support.  Thus 


166        THE   LONG  JOURNEY 

aided,  he  was  able  to  lift  his  arms  and  draw 
himself  up  beside  the  little  bush.  Near  by, 
supporting  himself  by  a  tree,  sat  Conrad. 

With  immobile  countenance  and  without 
even  his  customary  grunt,  Quagnant  climbed 
the  mountain  in  the  tracks  which  Conrad  had 
made.  After  he  had  rested  for  a  few  minutes 
and  had  ceased  to  tremble,  he  walked  along 
the  ridge  until  he  found  an  easy  descent  to 
the  stream  and  to  the  carcases  of  the  deer.  He 
did  not  speak  until  he  had  dressed  a  portion 
of  the  meat  with  his  long  knife  and  cooked 
it  over  a  little  fire  of  driftwood  which  had 
been  carried  high  on  the  bank  where  it  had 
been  protected  by  thick  laurel  and  hemlock 
shrubbery.  This  he  would  not  touch  until 
Conrad  had  eaten.   Then  at  last  he  spoke. 

"A  cloud  had  come  between  us,  Conrad, 
and  the  skies  were  dark.  It  is  past  now  for- 
ever and  the  skies  are  clear." 

Hiding  in  the  stream,  away  from  the  sharp 
claws  of  panther  or  wildcat,  the  meat  which 
they  could  not  carry,  the  two  set  out  for  home. 
The  next  day  the  hunters  brought  in,  not  only 
Quagnant's  kill,  but  three  more  deer.    That 


THE   DARK   FOREST         167 

evening  Conrad  was  invited  to  the  feast  of  the 
grown  men  and  was  given  a  long  pipe.  He  did 
not  like  the  strong  tobacco,  but  he  did  his 
best  to  smoke,  aware  that  he  had  been  paid 
a  great  honor.  At  him  Quagnant  looked 
solemnly,  both  during  the  feast  and  after- 
wards when  they  sat  together  by  the  fire.  In 
Quagnant' s  mind  was  taking  shape  a  strange 
plan,  at  once  brilliant  and  cunning.  If  Conrad 
could  have  looked  into  the  chief's  mind  and 
could  have  seen  there,  slowly  forming,  the 
last  episode  in  his  strange  apprenticeship,  he 
might  well  have  been  terrified.  The  meeting 
in  the  London  fog  was  about  to  bear  its  fruit. 

At  last  the  sullen  winter  was  past  and 
the  trees  began  to  bud  and  the  meadows  to 
grow  green.  The  women  prepared  their  little 
patches  of  ground  for  maize  and  potatoes, 
old  canoes  were  mended  and  new  canoes  were 
built,  the  young  men  began  to  court  and  the 
maidens  to  grow  more  shy.  When  Conrad 
spoke  of  joining  his  father,  who  must  be  by 
this  time  in  Schoharie,  Quagnant  shook  his 
head. 

"You  have  been  with  us  through  the  cruel 


168       THE   LONG  JOURNEY 

winter:  you  cannot  leave  when  the  Great 
Spirit  is  making  all  things  beautiful." 

Now  dark  forms  glided  through  the  forest 
once  more,  as  though  there  were  perpetual 
patrol  in  its  dim  aisles.  Messengers  came  to 
the  village,  messengers  were  sent  away.  The 
Mohawks  spoke  of  their  country  as  the  Long 
House  whose  back  was  at  the  Hudson  River 
and  whose  door  was  Niagara.  In  the  spring 
weather  all  the  inhabitants  were  astir. 

One  morning,  at  dawn,  Conrad  felt  a  touch 
on  his  shoulder  and  sprang  up  as  he  had  been 
trained.  Quagnant  stood  before  him,  enor- 
mous in  the  pale  light.  In  his  hand  he  held 
a  new  suit  of  doeskin  and  a  bowl  of  the  red 
paint  with  which  his  tribe  painted  stars  and 
turtles  on  their  cheeks.  With  a  few  strokes  he 
decorated  Conrad's  tanned  face.  Together 
they  ate  and  upon  the  shoulder  of  each  Little 
Squaw  fastened  a  pack  of  food  and  a  blanket. 

"Where  are  we  going?"  asked  Conrad. 

Quagnant  made  no  answer  except  to  mo- 
tion Conrad  to  follow  him  through  the  vil- 
lage. There,  with  his  long  stride,  Quagnant 
took  up  the  trail  toward  the  southwest. 


JOURNEY'S   END 

IT  would  be  difficult  to  tell  which  fared  the 
worse  during  the  long  winter,  the  Germans 
who  had  forced  their  way  to  the  Schoharie 
Valley  in  November,  or  those  who  remained, 
like  John  Conrad,  in  the  settlements.  All  were 
poor,  all  were  ill-clad,  all  were  insufficiently 
fed.  The  cruel  winter  continued  the  weeding- 
out  of  the  weak.  At  Schoharie  the  Indians 
helped  the  newcomers  according  to  their 
promise,  and  what  food  and  furs  they  could 
spare  they  gave  cheerfully. 

In  March,  John  Conrad  and  all  those  who 
had  remained  started  to  Schoharie.  There 
were  indications  of  an  early  spring,  and  it  was 
important  that  crops  should  be  sown.  From 
Conrad  nothing  had  been  heard  and  his  father 
grew  daily  more  anxious.  Sabina,  like  Mar- 
gareta  and  Magdalena,  had  found  a  mate,  and 
Barbara  had  taken  her  place  with  the  kind 
Englishwoman. 


170       THE   LONG  JOURNEY 

No  sooner  had  the  journey  begun  than  the 
last  of  the  winter's  storms  was  upon  the 
little  party.  Little  children  died  and  grown 
persons  suffered  cruelly.  Joined  with  their 
friends  at  Schoharie  in  the  valley  of  their 
dreams,  the  pilgrims  waited,  with  what  pa- 
tience they  could  summon,  for  spring. 

When,  finally,  the  snow  had  melted  for  the 
last  time  and  the  meadows  were  growing 
green  and  the  willows  were  yellow  along  the 
river,  the  hearts  of  the  Germans  rested  at 
last.  The  lovely  valley  was  lovelier  than  their 
dreams.  Log  houses  were  built,  farms  were 
laid  out,  and  with  their  poor  tools  they 
prepared  to  create  a  German  valley  which 
should  bloom  like  the  rose. 

Still  no  word  of  Conrad  was  to  be  had.  He 
was  in  the  village  of  Quagnant  to  the  west  — 
that  the  Indians  knew,  but  they  could  tell  no 
more.  His  father  grew  more  and  more  anx- 
ious and  unhappy.  As  he  worked  the  soil,  he 
lifted  his  head  to  watch;  when  his  day's  work 
was  done,  he  walked  into  the  forest  toward 
the  west. 

Meanwhile,  as  Conrad  followed  the  long 


JOURNEY'S   END  171 

stride  of  Quagnant  through  the  budding 
forest,  he  remembered  the  weary  journey  in 
November  from  Schenectady  to  the  Indian 
village.  Then  he  had  nearly  perished  with 
exhaustion;  now  he  walked  without  weari- 
ness. Quagnant  remembered  also  and  com- 
mented approvingly. 

"  Eyes-like- the-Sky  does  not  stumble  or 
faint.   He  is  a  true  Indian." 

"This  is  a  smooth  trail." 

In  Indian  fashion  Quagnant  made  a  com- 
parison. 

"That  was  a  smooth  trail,  but  to  Eyes-like- 
the-Sky  it  was  unfamiliar.  The  heart  of  the 
Indian  seemed  also  strange  to  you,  but  now 
it  is  plain." 

As  the  two  sat  by  a  little  camp-fire  in  the 
cool  evenings,  Quagnant  looked  solemnly  at 
Conrad.  They  had  now  many  companions; 
tall  chiefs  wrapped  in  blankets  and  stalking 
solemnly,  young  men  heavily  armed  and 
thickly  painted.  The  strangers  stared  at  Con- 
rad in  amazement,  their  keen  eyes  piercing 
the  thick  layer  of  paint  with  which  his  cheeks 
were  covered.  When  Conrad  glanced  back  at 


i72        THE   LONG  JOURNEY 

them,  they  looked  at  his  eyes  and  shook 
their  heads.  They  talked  with  Quagnant  of 
the  Long  House,  of  distant  enemies  whom 
they  called  the  Lenape,  and  of  other  matters 
which  Conrad  did  not  understand.  It  was 
clearly  evident  that  Conrad's  presence  star- 
tled and  shocked  them. 

Presently  Quagnant  grew  communicative. 
One  evening  when  he  and  Conrad  camped 
alone,  he  told  him  something  of  the  affairs  of 
the  Indians. 

"The  Five  Nations  are  at  peace,  but  they 
will  not  always  be  at  peace.  Many  important 
things  are  coming  to  pass,  Conrad." 

It  was  in  the  middle  of  a  bright  May  morn- 
ing that  Quagnant  and  his  companion  reached 
the  end  of  their  journey.  The  trail  led  over 
the  last  stream,  through  the  last  wood  and 
thence  to  a  great  hill,  upon  whose  side  lay  a 
large  Indian  village.  Here  it  was  that  the 
hundreds  of  small  human  streams  had  con- 
verged; here  the  savages  were  gathered,  it 
seemed  to  Conrad,  in  an  innumerable  host. 
At  sight  of  them,  his  heart  throbbed  and  his 
skin   pricked  with   fright.    Quagnant's   face 


JOURNEY'S   END  173 

was  hideous,  and  here  Quagnant  was  repeated 
hundreds  of  times.  Quagnant's  great  body, 
crowned  with  its  bristling  eagle  feathers,  was 
a  bit  terrifying  even  to  Conrad,  and  here  was 
Quagnant's  fierce  strength  multiplied  by  a 
great  army.  There  were  Indians  wrapped  in 
blankets,  Indians  without  covering,  Indians 
with  hideous  nose-ringsT  and  here  and  there 
shamans  or  medicine  men  with  masks  of  ani- 
mals, as  though  the  very  beasts  of  the  forest 
had  come  to  join  the  council. 

When  strength  returned  to  Conrad's  fright- 
ened heart,  he  breathed  a  frantic  prayer  to  be 
allowed  to  escape.  For  such  a  scene  as  this  no 
experience  of  his  life  had  prepared  him.  But 
he  dared  not  show  a  sign  of  fear;  he  must  walk 
on  behind  Quagnant,  up  the  street  of  the 
village  between  the  gigantic  creatures  and 
before  the  black,  beady,  piercing  eyes.  As 
Quagnant  approached,  he  was  hailed  with 
many  a  loud  uHo,  Ho."  The  sound  which 
followed  him  was  different,  —  a  low,  disap- 
proving murmur. 

Straight  up  the  great  hill  led  the  feet  of 
Quagnant;  close  to  him  followed  Conrad.  At 


174        THE   LONG  JOURNEY 

the  summit  of  the  hill  the  forest  trees  had 
been  cut  in  a  wide  circle  and  the  ground  had 
been  beaten  like  a  hard  floor.  About  the  rim 
of  the  circle  were  placed  tree-stumps  and 
logs;  in  the  middle  burned  a  fire,  round  which 
crouched  shamans,  more  hideous  than  the 
warriors.  Beside  them  lay  their  drums  of 
tightly  stretched  skin  and  their  rattles  of 
turtle  shell  or  gourd.  They  sat  motionless, 
their  eyes  upon  the  fire. 

Quagnant  bade  Conrad  sit  down  at  the 
edge  of  the  woods,  and  himself  sat  beside 
him.  One  by  one  Indians  came  to  speak  to 
him,  to  Conrad  a  consoling  sign  of  his  im- 
portance. Longest  of  all  he  spoke  with  an 
Oneida  chief  named  Shikellamy.  What  they 
said  Conrad  could  not  hear,  but  he  could  see 
that  Shikellamy  looked  upon  him  kindly. 

"He  has  a  great  heart  and  a  wise  mind," 
said  Quagnant  as  the  chief  went  away.  "In 
council  he  makes  our  way  clear.' ' 

At  noon  the  shamans  beat  their  drums  and 
shook  their  rattles,  and  at  once,  breaking  off 
conversation  with  one  another  or  with  the 
squaws  of  the  village,  the  Indians  approached 


JOURNEY'S   END  175 

the  council  fire.  Certain  ones,  Quagnant  and 
Shikellamy  among  them,  took  seats  together 
on  the  tree-stumps;  the  others  sat  on  logs  or 
on  the  ground.  Outside  the  circle  stood  scores 
of  young  men.  Presently  the  shamans  ceased 
to  beat  their  drums  and  shake  their  rattles 
and  crouched  again  about  the  fire. 

Now  followed  a  period  of  complete  silence. 
The  chiefs  did  not  move;  the  young  warriors 
seemed  scarcely  to  breathe;  even  from  the 
village  came  no  sound  of  speech  and  no  cry 
of  child. 

Shikellamy  was  the  first  to  rise.  He  spoke 
in  a  deep  voice  and  was  listened  to  with 
breathless  attention. 

"  Brothers  of  the  Long  House,  it  is  now 
many  years  since  the  great  tree  was  planted 
under  whose  young  roots  we  buried  our 
hatchets.  Many  moons  have  risen  and  waned 
since  we  wove  our  wampum  into  one  belt. 
Many  feasts  have  been  eaten  since  the  undy- 
ing flame  of  our  council  fire  was  lighted,  and 
since  Mohawk,  Seneca,  Onondaga,  Oneida, 
and  Cayuga  became  brothers.  The  great  tree 
will  continue  to  grow,  the  sun  and  moon  to 


176       THE   LONG  JOURNEY 

rise  and  the  council  fire  to  send  out  into  the 
forest  its  clear  light.  Our  hatchets,  buried  in 
the  ground,  will  rust  before  they  are  dug 
up. 

"We  are  now  at  peace  with  all  men,  and 
strangers  seek  our  favor.  Our  enemies  fear  us 
and  we  fear  no  one. 

"But,  brothers  of  the  Long  House,  there 
are  matters  to  be  considered.  Claims  have 
been  laid  against  us.  Our  young  men,  in  the 
heat  of  anger  and  inflamed  by  drink,  have 
done  here  and  there  a  little  injury.  The  tears 
of  those  whom  they  injured  must  be  wiped 
away  with  presents.  Each  wrong  must  be 
considered  and  we  must  make  recompense 
without  grudging. 

"These  matters  are,  however,  small.  Our 
brother  Onotio  has  something  to  say  to  us. 
Our  brother  Onas  has  also  something  to  say 
to  us.  Between  Onotio  on  the  one  side  and 
Onas  on  the  other,  there  is  undying  hatred, 
whose  cause  is  shut  off  from  our  eyes.  We 
cannot  remain  friends  both  to  Onotio  and  to 
Onas,  who  draw  nearer  and  nearer  to  one  an- 
other through  the  forests.  Soon  the  two  black 


JOURNEY'S   END  177 

clouds  will  meet,  and  the  grass  on  the  war- 
path will  be  trodden  down. 

11  It  is  for  the  consideration  of  these  matters 
that  the  council  is  assembled." 

When  Shikellamy  had  finished  a  loud  up- 
roar was  made  by  the  medicine  men.  They 
rose  and  faced  the  east,  then  prostrated  them- 
selves again  and  again.  The  Great  Spirit  was 
being  invoked. 

Now  with  astonishing  order  the  various 
businesses  of  which  Shikellamy  had  spoken 
were  presented  to  the  council  and  settled. 
The  young  Indians  who  had  quarreled  with 
their  neighbors  were  admonished  and  fined. 
Young  Eagle  was  to  send  five  deerskins  to  dry 
the  tears  of  the  warrior  whose  son  he  had 
injured ;  Short  Arm  was  to  send  three  blankets 
to  the  widow  of  the  man  whom  he  had  killed. 
Against  these  decisions  there  was  no  protest. 
The  code  which  the  young  men  had  disobeyed 
was  clearly  understood  and  its  penalties  ac- 
cepted without  argument. 

When  the  relations  of  the  allied  nations  to 
the  French  and  English  came  to  be  spoken  of, 
there  was  a  change  in  the  spirit  of  the  meet- 


178       THE   LONG  JOURNEY 

ing.  Now  all  whispering  ceased;  every  one 
sat  motionless,  listening  with  knitted  brows 
and  bright,  eager  eyes.  The  council  was  in- 
formed minutely  of  the  affairs  of  the  English 
colonies  to  the  east  and  the  French  settle- 
ments to  the  west.  Conrad  listened  as  eagerly 
as  the  rest,  his  terror  lost  in  amazement. 

"I  am  a  swift  runner,"  said  Short  Arm. 
"  I  went  in  three  days  to  Harris's  Ferry.  The 
children  of  Brother  Onas  are  creeping,  creep- 
ing to  the  west  and  to  the  north.  They  are 
coming  into  the  Long  House.  They  are  graz- 
ing their  cattle  where  our  deer  have  grazed. 
They  are  our  enemies." 

"The  pale-faces  are  in  Schoharie,"  said  a 
dark-faced,  hideously  painted  old  chief.  As 
he  spoke  he  pointed  at  Conrad.  "Not  only 
are  they  given  lands,  but  they  are  taken  into 
our  wigwams.   They  are  our  enemies." 

From  some  one  came  a  sneering  laugh. 
Now  Conrad  was  sure  of  what  would  be  his 
fate.  Then,  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  council 
fire,  a  tall  figure  rose.  Conrad's  lips  parted; 
he  was  about  to  cry  out;  then  he  held  his  lips 
closely  shut  with  his  hand. 


JOURNEY'S   END  179 

"  It  is  the  King  of  Rivers!  It  is  the  King  of 
Rivers!" 

"This  talk  about  the  children  of  Onas  is 
nonsense.  The  children  of  Onotio  are  more 
hateful.  They  come  into  the  Long  House 
from  the  north.  They  think  nothing  of  their 
promises.  They  have  allied  themselves  with 
our  enemies;  they  are  our  enemies.  There  are 
no  two  words  about  them." 

Now  Quagnant  rose,  and  standing  with 
folded  arms  looked  about  until  he  had  met 
every  piercing  eye.  Last  of  all  he  sought 
the  wide  blue  ones  at  the  edge  of  the  forest. 
Like  the  other  Indians,  Quagnant  spoke  elo- 
quently. 

"  Brothers,  we  are  of  the  extended  lodge. 
The  Long  House  is  no  mere  hut  like  the 
dwelling  of  the  Catawbas.  We  have  made 
our  enemies  to  flutter  like  frightened  young 
birds.  At  the  Catawbas  and  the  Lenape  we 
laugh. 

"Now  strangers  seek  to  live  with  us  in  the 
Long  House,  —  a  great  people,  pale  of  face, 
with  new  customs  and  long  guns.  Some  are 
our  friends,  some  are  our  enemies.  They  have 


180        THE   LONG  JOURNEY 

brought  us  good  things  and  bad  things.  With 
the  guns  they  have  brought  we  have  become 
powerful,  but  with  the  fire-water  they  have 
brought  we  have  become  mad. 

"We  cannot  tell  which  among  these  pale- 
faces are  our  friends.  Their  words  are  not 
ours  and  their  faces  are  not  ours.  They  give 
little  in  exchange  for  much.  Our  furs  are  to 
them  no  more  valuable  than  a  few  beads,  our 
hunting-grounds  no  more  than  a  few  hatch- 
ets." 

"It  is  a  good  day's  journey  from  the  Sus- 
quehanna to  the  Black  Mountain,"  cried  a 
voice.  "This  they  have  taken  for  a  piece  of 
bright  cloth  and  a  glass  in  which  to  see  one's 
face!" 

"Their  traders  lie  to  us!"  cried  another. 

The  hideously  painted  old  chief  rose. 

"Year  by  year  their  ships  come.  They 
overrun  our  land,  given  by  the  Great  Spirit. 
They  enter  at  the  front  of  the  Long  House  to 
shove  us  out  at  the  back;  at  the  back,  to  push 
us  out  at  the  front.   I  counsel  death  to  all!" 

A  great  trembling  seized  upon  Conrad. 
Then  he  saw  that  Quagnant  still  stood,  mo- 


JOURNEY'S   END  181 

tionless,  waiting  to  continue  his  speech.  Quag- 
nant  would  not  forget  the  icy  bank  and  the 
deep  pool! 

"  Brothers,"  said  Quagnant,  "let  us  be  or- 
derly in  council,  not  like  chattering  birds. 
The  words  of  Quagnant  were  not  finished." 

At  once  silence  was  restored. 

"The  various  brothers  have  spoken,"  went 
on  Quagnant.  "Many  have  spoken  without 
thought.  They  desire  war,  without  reflecting 
that  the  pale-face  has  long  guns  also,  without 
reflecting  that  ships  will  bring  new  pale-faces. 
There  is  a  pale-face  to  whom  I  have  put  many 
questions ;  he  tells  me  that  they  are  across  the 
sea  like  the  leaves  of  the  forest.  To  talk  of 
making  war  upon  all  is  child's  talk. 

"What  we  should  do,  brothers  of  the  Long 
House,  is  to  enter  into  understanding  with 
the  pale-face,  so  that  we  may  say,  'To  this 
river  the  land  is  yours,  beyond  is  ours.'  Then 
our  mind  will  be  clear  to  them,  then  messen- 
gers can  go  to  and  fro  and  — " 

"They  will  not  listen!"  cried  the  old  war- 
rior. "They  have  laughed  our  messengers  in 
the  face." 


182         THE   LONG   JOURNEY 

Quagnant  waited  again  until  the  old  war- 
rior had  been  frowned  at  by  half  the  assem- 
blage. Quagnant  approached  now  the  care- 
fully planned  climax  of  his  address. 

"The  pale-faces  will  not  listen  to  us,  it  is 
true.  They  do  not  understand  us.  But  they 
will  listen  to  another  pale-face.  I  have  had 
in  my  wigwam  a  young  pale-face.  I  have 
watched  his  behavior.  He  has  done  things 
which  will  move  the  hearts  of  the  brothers  of 
the  Long  House  when  I  tell  them.  I  will  tell 
them  at  length.  We  have  made  of  him  an 
Indian.   He  speaks  our  words.   He  — " 

Now  the  fierce  old  warrior  would  not  be 
stayed.  He  sprang  to  his  feet,  hatchet  in 
hand. 

"He  may  well  speak  our  words  when  he 
sits  at  our  councils!  Such  a  thing  has  never 
been  heard  of  in  the  Long  House.  Let  him  go 
away  and  go  quickly." 

Shikellamy  crossed  the  open  space  toward 
Quagnant. 

"Let  the  young  braves  take  him  away," 
said  he. 

At  once  Conrad  found  himself  surrounded. 


JOURNEY'S   END  183 

Down  the  hillside  he  was  led  and  to  the  far 
end  of  a  long  meadow  through  which  flowed  a 
stream. 

There,  when  the  curiosity  of  the  young  In- 
dians about  what  was  going  on  in  the  council 
could  be  no  longer  resisted,  he  was  left  alone. 
He  could  hear  on  the  rising  wind  the  sound 
of  many  voices  and  now  a  single  voice  raised 
in  impassioned  speech.  About  him  the  shades 
of  the  spring  night  were  falling  and  a  cold 
breath  from  the  water  chilled  him  through. 
Hungry  and  tired,  he  sat  with  his  hands 
clasped  round  his  knees  and  his  cheek  bent 
upon  them.  The  forest  seemed  to  press  upon 
him.  A  more  terrible  oppression  came  from 
the  thought  of  the  savage  creatures  on  the  hill- 
side, gathered  from  the  wilderness,  debating 
now  whether  to  deal  with  the  whites  in  peace 
or  to  exterminate  them  with  knife  and  flame. 

He  thought  of  his  father's  dreams  of  a  great 
country  where  there  should  be  liberty  and 
peace.  With  honesty  and  at  the  same  time 
with  firmness  must  these  children  of  the  wil- 
derness be  met  or  dreams  and  their  dreamers 
would  perish  in  a  night. 


184        THE   LONG  JOURNEY 

Presently  a  dark  form  stole  toward  him 
across  the  meadow.  He  heard  a  strange  sing- 
ing unlike  the  voice  of  man  or  animal.  He  saw 
strange  forms  approach,' with  faces  masked  and 
bodies  wrapped  in  skins  of  deer  and  panther 
and  bear.  He  moved  to  the  nearest  tree  and 
stood  with  his  back  against  it.  He  thought 
now  no  more  of  his  father's  dreams,  or  of  God's 
purpose  of  which  his  father  talked,  but  prayed 
in  his  pious  German  way  that  he  might  meet 
his  death  bravely. 

He  found  himself  taken  by  the  hand  and 
led  up  the  hill,  the  strange  forms  following 
after.  Through  the  Indian  village  where  the 
women  stared  from  firelit  doorways,  and 
where  over  great  fires  meat  was  cooking,  to 
the  center  of  the  council  he  was  taken,  and 
there  he  was  placed  alone  beside  the  council 
fire.  About  sat  the  chiefs,  behind  them  in  the 
shadowy  circle  the  young  men.  Conrad  stood 
still,  his  eyes  seeking  Quagnant.  If  death 
should  come,  he  hoped  its  messenger  would  be 
a  swift  knife.  The  medicine  men  were  behind 
him ;  it  would  be  by  their  hands  that  the  blow 
would  be  struck. 


JOURNEY'S   END  185 

Shikellamy  was  the  first  to  speak.  Upon 
his  magnificent  body  the  firelight  danced. 
His  immobile  face  told  nothing  of  his  heart, 
but  it  seemed  to  Conrad  that  his  voice  was 
kind. 

"We  have  listened  to  the  story  of  our 
brother  Quagnant,"  said  he.  "We  believe 
that  you  are  honest  and  true.  We  believe 
that  you  speak  our  words.  In  order  that  we 
may  bind  ourselves  to  you  and  you  to  us"  — 
now  Conrad's  heart  stood  still  —  "in  order 
that  we  may  bind  ourselves  to  you  and  you  to 
us,  we  make  you  a  member  of  the  Five  Na- 
tions. We  give  you  our  heart  and  you  give 
us  your  heart.  He  who  is  our  friend  is  your 
friend.  He  who  is  our  enemy  is  your  enemy. 
We  invite  you  to  the  extended  lodge,  we  bid 
you  come  to  our  feasts.  We  will  give  you  in 
token  deerskins  to  make  you  clothes  and 
shoes." 

Now  there  was  a  long  pause.    The  rising 
wind    moaned    in    the    pine    trees,    the    fire 
leaped.  Shikellamy  crossed  to  the  council  fire 
and  held  out  his  great  hand. 
-    "We  give  you  also  in  token  a  new  name. 


186        THE   LONG  JOURNEY 

1  Eyes-like-the-Sky '  you  are  to  the  children, 
but  among  men  you  are,  '  He-holds-our- 
fate.'" 

Now  the  King  of  Rivers  came  forward.  A 
true  Indian,  he  gave  no  sign  that  he  recol- 
lected the  camp  of  Blackheath  and  the 
strange  encounter  which  reached  now  its 
stranger  consummation. 

"We  are  to  see  dark  sights,"  said  he.  "I 
see  wars,  with  Indians  creeping  upon  pale- 
faces and  pale-faces  upon  Indians.  I  hear 
cries  to  the  Great  Spirit.  See  that  you,  who 
are  now  our  Tongue,  are  true  to  us.  Then  the 
English  will  conquer  the  French  and  the  land 
will  have  peace.  Between  the  Indian  and  the 
English  is  a  bond.    You  are  that  bond." 

Now  Shikellamy  spoke  again. 

1  'You  will  have  a  great  name  while  you 
live,  and  after  you  die  your  Indian  brothers 
will  visit  the  place  where  you  lie.  Your  chil- 
dren will  say  with  pride,  'I  am  of  the  great 
He-holds-our-fate,  his  blood  is  mine,  I  have 
his  brave  heart/  Will  you  be  true  to  your 
brothers?" 

"I  will  be  true  to  my  brothers." 


JOURNEY'S   END  187 

Then,  at  the  side  of  a  beckoning  Quagnant, 
Conrad  sat  down. 

"You  have  done  well,"  said  Quagnant. 
"Now  the  feast  begins." 

Conrad  made  no  answer.  He  saw  the  Long 
House,  enormous,  mysterious;  he  saw  the 
little  fringe  of  white  faces  between  it  and  the 
sea.  He  saw  the  hopes  and  fears  of  the  dwell- 
ers in  the  Long  House  and  the  hopes  and 
fears  of  the  strangers.  Both  were  in  his  own 
heart. 

In  June,  John  Conrad's  eager,  anxious  eyes 
were  satisfied.  He  still  walked  each  evening 
into  the  forest.  There  on  a  fallen  tree  he  sat 
and  looked  toward  the  west.  One  clear  eve- 
ning, he  saw  coming  toward  him  an  erect, 
alert  young  Indian  and  sprang  up  to  make  the 
same  eager  inquiry  with  which  he  greeted  all 
Indians.  Then  he  stood  still.  The  Indian  was 
clad  in  doeskin,  his  hair  was  long,  his  feet 
were  moccasined  —  but  his  eyes  were  blue! 

"  My  son ! "  cried  John  Conrad. 

Hand  in  hand  the  two  sat  down  on  the 
fallen  tree. 


188         THE   LONG  JOURNEY 

II  How  are  my  brothers  and  sisters?  "  asked 
Conrad. 

II I  have  heard  no  ill  news  of  them.  Sabina 
is  married,  and  Barbara  has  taken  her  place 
with  a  kind  mistress  in  Schenectady.  Of  all 
my  dear  children  you  are  left  me,  Conrad. 
What  has  befallen  you?" 

Conrad  talked  steadily  and  quietly.  He 
was  different;  his  eyes  were  steady,  his  figure 
erect,  his  voice  deep.  He  told  of  the  strange 
life,  of  the  harsh  training,  of  the  bitter  suffer- 
ing from  hunger  and  cold. 

When  he  described  the  council,  John  Con- 
rad shivered. 

"A  thousand  times  I  wished  I  had  not  let 
you  go ! "  Then  in  the  gathering  dusk  his  eyes 
sought  his  son's  face.  "What  are  you  going 
to  do  now,  Conrad?" 

Conrad  turned  and  smiled  into  the  anxious 
eyes. 

"lam  going  to  help  you  and  I  am  going  to 
teach  the  children  their  letters.  Father,"  — 
Conrad  looked  back  into  the  darkening  woods, 
—  "  the  life  among  the  Indians  seems  already 
like  a  dream;  but  there  they  are  waiting,  a 


JOURNEY'S   END  189 

fearful  menace  to  us  all.  Suppose  that  I 
should  some  day  be  the  one  to  keep  the  peace! 
Perhaps  God  has  saved  me  for  that  through 
much  danger  and  perversity." 

John  Conrad  breathed  a  long  sigh.  He 
did  not  look  into  the  future,  but  into  the 
past. 

"Your  mother  and  I  could  not  give  our 
children  riches  and  honor,"  said  he  slowly. 
"We  tried  to  give  them  faith  in  God  and  will- 
ingness to  do  their  simple  duty.  If  you  have 
learned  those  lessons  from  us  or  in  the  forest 
among  the  Indians,  you  are  at  last  a  man. 
Your  mother — " 

But  John  Conrad  could  not  finish,  needed 
not  to  finish.  The  hand  within  his  tightened 
and  an  arm  was  thrown  across  his  bent 
shoulders.  Together  the  two  sat  silently,  as 
they  had  stood  long  ago  in  Gross  Anspach  in 
the  moonlight  by  the  little  church.  Their 
thoughts  traveled  together  from  sister  to  sis- 
ter and  brother  to  brother,  and  finally  back 
once  more  across  the  sea.  Then,  at  last,  John 
Conrad  spoke. 

"It  has  been  a  long  journey  and  a  weary 


igo        THE   LONG  JOURNEY 

one,"  said  he,  "but  my  children  will  have  a 
better  chance  than  I  in  the  world.  There 
may  be  other  journeys  before  me,  but  to- 
night my  heart  is  at  rest." 


THE   END 


CAMBRIDGE  .  MASSACHUSETTS 
U    .    S    .    A 


JUST  DAVID 


By  Eleanor  H.  Porter 


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—  New  York  Tribune. 

"Mrs.  Rinehart  has  never  written  a  more  engrossing 
story."  —  Literary  Digest. 

Illustrated  by  Charles  E.  Chambers.    $1.35  net. 


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NEW  YORK 

THE  VALLEY  ROAD 


By  Mary  Hallock  Foote 


11  A  fine  portrayal  of  the  progress  of  a  family  with  good 
old  traditions  through  more  than  two  decades.  .  .  .  This 
work  deserves  praise  for  its  fine  workmanship." 

—  Review  of  Reviews. 

"  One  of  the  choice  novels  of  the  year.  ...  A  symmet- 
rical, beautiful  story,  with  passages  that  fire  imagination, 
that  smite  with  pity,  that  quicken  with  the  stress  of  life's 
great  moments.  Surrounding  it  all,  and  one  with  it,  is  the 
colorful  Californian  atmosphere."  —  Milwaukee  Free  Press. 

"In  'The  Valley  Road'  readers  who  have  learned  to 
watch  for  Mrs.  Foote's  books  will  find  all  her  best  charac- 
teristics revealed.  .  .  .  All  her  people  are  delightfully  real." 

—  Louisville  Courier  Journal. 

"  The  vivid  character  drawing,  the  insight  into  people's 
hearts  that  is  shown  and  the  pictures  of  their  lives  combine 
to  make  a  fine  and  interesting  portrayal  of  American 
life.  .  .  .  The  story  is  refreshing." — Indianapolis  Star. 

"  A  healthy,  whole-souled  book,  fresh  and  free,  like  her 
own  dear  California."  —  St.  Louis  Globe  Democrat. 


$i-35  net- 


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DAVID  PENSTEPHEN 

By  Richard  Pryce 

Author  of"  Christopher"  etc.,  etc. 


"  A  novel  of  extraordinary  insight  into  the  soul  of  a 
woman  and  the  heart  of  a  child.  .  .  .  Novelists  like  Mr. 
Pryce,  with  his  sympathetic  comprehension  of  the  mental 
processes  in  both  women  and  children,  as.  well  as  in  men, 
are  all  too  rare.  'David  Penstephen'  is  an  unusual  story 
told  in  an  unusual  manner."  —  Bosto?i  Transcript. 

"'David  Penstephen'  is  as  searching  a  study  of  the  in- 
fluence of  environment  upon  character  as  one  can  find  — 
a  story  that  grows  ever  more  intensely  interesting  as  it 
proceeds.    One  of  the  notable  novels  of  the  year." 

—  New  York  Tribune. 

11  Far  ahead  of  anything  Mr.  Pryce  has  yet  done  —  even 
'Christopher.'"  —  New  York  Times. 

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PENELOPE'S  POSTSCRIPTS 

By  Kate  Douglas  Wiggin 

Author  of  " Rebecca,"  "  The  Birds'  Christmas  Carol,"  etc. 


The  experiences  of  the  ever- fascinating  Penelope 
in  Vienna,  Switzerland,  Wales,  Devon,  and  at  home. 

"  In  their  delightfully  humorous  way,  with  their  capital 
touches  of  character-drawing,  Penelope's  travel  books  will 
enchant  readers  to-day  as  much  as  they  delighted  those 
who  read  them  more  than  a  decade  ago." 

—  New  York  Tribune. 

"  In  its  lightness  of  touch,  its  gayety  and  humor,  it  re- 
veals the  qualities  that  have  endeared  Mrs.  Wiggin's  work 
to  such  a  host  of  readers."  —  New  York  World. 

"Age  cannot  destroy,  nor  familiarity  lessen,  Penelope's 
power  to  charm.  In  these,  her  ■  postscripts,'  that  power  is 
as  potent  as  ever."  —  Philadelphia  Press. 

"All  the  charm  of  the  author's  previous  books  is  pre- 
sent in  this  one."  —  New  Orleans  Times-Picayune. 

With  frontispiece.     $1.00  net. 


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